It Was Murder (or How Adam and Sibella Solved a Crime)
by Adamantwrites
Summary: After the milliner is murdered, Sibella is determined to find the killer and Adam finds himself helping his wife - against his better judgment. Setting is post Civil War Nevada and its environs.
1. Chapter 1

**Last year I had some unpleasant experiences on this board, so I haven't posted in quite a while. Taking a chance. Please note, all "Guest" reviews, even those reviewers that have creative names w/o having an account, will be deleted.**

 **This is the third story with Adam and Sibella. The first two are in the M section. This one is rated the equivalent of PG13**

 **It Was Murder (or How Adam and Sibella Solved a Crime)**

 **I**

Sibella Cartwright rushed out, the shop bell clanging again upon her exit. She leaned against the door to catch her breath, the "Open" sign in the store window facing the morning sun. She pressed one small, gloved hand to her bosom, trying to steady her breathing. Her only thought was to get away from there and to her husband. He would know what to do. After all, he was always so infuriatingly in control, so logical and rational. He would know what came next in such a situation – he would know and would take care of everything.

Sibella hurried down the street, the heels of her fashionable lambskin boots clicking on the wooden boardwalk. Men on the street tipped their hats and the women smiled at her; everyone who resided in Virginia City knew who she was – the only Cartwright bride. Although Sibella felt her responses, a nod in reply, a forced smile to the gentleman, must be construed as insincere by everyone, she wasn't concerned. The Cartwright and Sons Ltd. office in the two-story building near the Palace Hotel was her destination. That was all that mattered.

Miss Pear sat at her typewriter in the office anteroom surrounded by filing cabinets, two potted palms, a hanging fern, and four upholstered chairs in beige, grey, and maroon stripes. The only window caught the afternoon sun so she relied on the banker's lamp to illuminate the contract. It and its two copies had to be ready to be signed since the negotiations for railroad timbers had been successful and the three men were in the office sipping coffee laced with brandy although it was before noon. Miss Pear frowned on drinking as her own father had indulged, much to her mother's dismay. He would, as her mother said years earlier, "Drink up our hard-earned money and then piss it out in the alleyway!" But Miss Pear would forgive Mr. Cartwright anything, even drinking spirits before noon; he could do no wrong in her eyes.

The amanuensis was finishing up, filling in the blanks in the standard contract, rolling the paper to sit evenly, making certain the carbon paper between the three pieces of paper was straight – smears and smudges would draw a furrowed brow from the boss; Mr. Cartwright did not suffer delays and he would be calling for the copies at any second. Besides, she certainly didn't want to disappoint him; his smile was all she desired, albeit she readily accepted the tidy sum he paid for her typing skills and ability to organize the files. Every contract could be found and pulled at a moment's notice and many times, Mr. Cartwright had said he didn't know what he would do without her. Maybe one day he would look at her differently than just as an efficient part of the machinery, as necessary as the carbonated paper.

Sibella pushed open the office door and headed for her husband's office. The door with the smoked glass window was closed but the laughter of three men could be heard from inside. The door was not completely soundproof and Miss Pear had no qualms about standing near it on occasion and listening. She learned so many things that way.

"Mrs. Cartwright, may I help you?" Miss Pear had quickly risen from her straight-back chair and interposed herself between Mrs. Cartwright and the office door.

"I need to see my husband." Sibella moved to Miss Pear's left but Miss Pear stepped in front of her again.

Such a silly woman, Miss Pear thought. Any woman that lovely had to be dimwitted. Sibella Cartwright was far too young, far too shallow to be married to such an intelligent, handsome, conservative man like Adam Cartwright. Here Sibella was, almost 16 years younger than her husband, dressed in expensive clothes of the latest style bought on a trip to San Francisco or ordered from a style house in New York and altered here. Yes, Miss Pear knew all about Mrs. Cartwright's lavish spending, all the checks signed by her husband without complaint. But that was the way life was for beautiful women and Mrs. Cartwright was beautiful, Miss Pear hated to admit, with milky skin, deep blue eyes and auburn hair piled high on her head and wearing a fetching bonnet decorated with silk roses and pink ribbons.

But could she type? Miss Pear took comfort in the fact that when it came to helping her husband with business, Sibella Cartwright would be useless. Absolutely of no use at all.

"Miss Pear, please step out of my way. I need to see my husband!"

"He's in a meeting! Really, Mrs. Cartwright. You must wait! He can't be interrupted!"

Sibella paused for a moment and then, with a quick sidestep and deftly avoiding Miss Pear's arm, Sibella opened the office door and stood there, one hand still on the handle. The three men were surprised and it took them a moment to rise from their chairs.

"Sibella?" Adam Cartwright moved from around his desk, coming to his wife. "What is it?"

"I tried to have her wait, Mr. Cartwright – I told her you were in an important meeting but she wouldn't listen." Miss Pear wrung her hands.

"It's all right, Miss Pear. I'll take care of things." Adam didn't even notice Miss Pear's anxious look. All he noticed was how lovely Sibella looked. Why, with her eyes shining and her lips softly parted, she looked as she had that morning after they had been intimate. And again, Adam was back in their marriage bed with his wife's smooth body next to him, her round arms about his neck…

"Oh, Adam, it was awful! I…oh, it was awful!" Sibella looked into the worried face of her husband and suddenly, she felt the ground fall out from under her. When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on the leather couch in her husband's office with him bending over her, chafing her wrist. The other two men stood behind him, looking down at her.

"Miss Pear, get some water," Adam barked.

Miss Pear went out into the anteroom and held a glass under the spigot of a large ceramic crock. Every morning, she arrived early to clean the crock and fill it with fresh water from the pump out back and every evening, she emptied it, first watering the plants.

Once the glass was adequately filled, Miss Pear took it inside the office, resisting the impulse to toss the contents into Mrs. Cartwright's face. That would revive her!

"Thank you, Miss Pear," Adam said, taking the glass from her. Sibella, allowing herself to sit up, also thanked Miss Pear and before taking the glass from her husband, loosened the wide grosgrain ribbon tied under her chin and pulled off her bonnet.

"Shall I fetch the doctor?" Miss Pear asked.

"No," Sibella said. "Please, don't. I…oh, Adam, it was awful!" And then the tears started.

"What, my darling. What? Is Noah all right?" Adam gave his wife his white linen handkerchief.

And just like that. Miss Pear knew she was dismissed, completely forgotten.

Sibella dabbed at her eyes. "Noah's fine. Your father's watching him, but…there's been a murder! A murder, Adam! And I saw it!"


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

"Perhaps we should leave," Mr. Philpot, one of the two businessmen, said, obviously concerned and obviously uncomfortable. He was tall and rotund with a handle-bar mustache and when he was nervous or anxious as he was now, he twirled his fingers along the ends of his moustache, twisting up the ends.

"Yes, Mr. Cartwright," the younger, handsome, Mr. Hancock said, "perhaps we could finish up our business tomorrow. Shall I fetch the constable? I mean, since there's been a murder…" Mr. Hancock kept staring at the young woman in distress who claimed to have seen a murder. And at 10:15 in the morning in a busy town, no less. Women, especially self-absorbed, beautiful women – and she was beautiful, he noted, were especially unreliable, at least that was the general opinion. And his opinion as well. Everything was remembered only as it affected them and that was all.

"No. Thank you, Mr. Hancock, but, no. There's no need for you to become involved. And I agree, tomorrow would be better to conclude our business as I need to see to my wife." Adam glanced at Sibella who looked piteous with her dark hair tousled from the hastily removed bonnet and the color just creeping back into her lips and cheeks.

Mr. Philpot hooked his thumbs into his weskit pockets and harrumphed. "Yes. Tomorrow. First thing I would imagine. I suppose your secretary will clear the time."

Adam stood up. "Please see Miss Pear; she'll handle it," Adam said. "And thank you, gentlemen. I'm sorry about…" Adam paused. What could he say? Sorry about the murder? Sorry my wife burst in and interrupted us?

"I hope it's taken care of and that it actually wasn't…" Mr. Hancock smiled indulgently at Sibella. "I hope, Mrs. Cartwright, that it wasn't an actual…murder." Then he straightened up and buttoned his suit jacket. "I can only assume the dinner invitation for tonight is canceled in light of…well, the murder."

"No," Adam said. "It's my father's invitation to join him at the Ponderosa. I'm certain he'll be delighted to meet both of you since he likes to meet the people we do business with. Although, as for my wife and myself, I don't think we'll be there."

"The more the shame," Mr. Hancock said, bowing slightly to Sibella who thought that as she had just seen the most horrible thing one could possibly imagine, why was everyone being so polite? Why weren't they more upset? Yet Mr. Hancock was unperturbed. "I wish we had met under more pleasant circumstances. Au revoir, Mrs. Cartwright. I'm sure we will meet again before I leave for Baltimore. Mr. Cartwright…"

The three men acknowledged one another and Adam closed the door behind them. He could hear them speaking with Miss Pear. He sat on the couch beside Sibella and took her small hands in his.

"Now, tell, me exactly what you saw," Adam said.

"I saw Madame Adair dead - murdered!"

"How do you know she was dead and if she was, what makes you think it was murder?"

"Because she had a hat pin thrust into her heart!"

~ 0 ~

Deputy Clem Foster flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed" and threw the bolt on the shop door as per Sheriff Coffee's order. He had never been inside a milliner's shop before, not having any reason to or even a wife who might drag him to see if a certain bonnet was more fetching than another. He wondered if Adam Cartwright ever went clothes shopping with his wife, if she tried on frocks and asked him to judge their fit and style. He doubted it. Although if he had a wife like Adam's…but it did no good to consider such things.

He walked into the back where Sheriff Coffee was viewing the "scene of the crime" with Adam and Sibella. A blanket Clem had brought from the jail had been laid over the body after Sheriff Coffee had looked at it along with Adam, determining that it was a murder.

Once the four of them had hurried to the milliner's shop, _Parisian Style_ , after Adam and Sibella had walked into the sheriff's office interrupting Clem's mid-morning cup of coffee by announcing that Madame Adair had been stabbed in the heart with a hat pin, Sibella had stayed in the front shop with Clem Foster. She had paced back and forth among the hat stands until she was called to the back by Adam who had stepped out, assuring Sibella that Madam Adair had been respectfully covered.

As Sibella cautiously entered the back, Roy Coffee offered a partial smile hoping to convey reassurance to his star witness. He failed. "Now, Mrs. Cartwright, just tell me one more time, how did you get into the shop?"

"Through the front door. How do you think, Sheriff?" Sibella sighed with impatience.

"Sibella," Adam said, "it's important that you answer the questions. Roy's not asking them for amusement."

"Well, Adam, it just seems rather silly, especially since it should be obvious. The open sign was showing and the door was unlocked. So, I came in."

"It was unlocked?"

"Yes! Unlocked! I couldn't very well have come in if it hadn't been."

Roy Coffee rocked back and forth on his heels, steepling his fingers; it wouldn't do to bark at her. "And why were you here?"

"Well, if you think I was here to kill her, you're wrong!" Sibella said, her chin jutting out.

"Now, ma'am, now why would I think that? You'd have no reason. So if you'd just answer my questions, please." Roy was trying his hardest to keep the edge of irritation out of his voice. Mrs. Cartwright was a joy to behold, a pleasure in fact, even for an older man like himself, but she was one of the most frustrating women he had ever met and no matter where she went, she managed to upset the apple cart. And Adam seemed amused by everything she did. Yet Roy Coffee still remembered his father saying to him, "There are some women who cause trouble just by existing – and every one of them are beauties. Steer clear of overly-beautiful women, son. Mischief follows them but that may be what draws men to them." And Mrs. Cartwright seemed the perfect example.

"Well, I was picking up a hat. Mme. Adair was adding feathers to make it more fashionable. Anyway, she wasn't in the front of the shop and didn't come out. I mean the bell sounded but she didn't come out as she usually does if she's in the back."

"Okay," Roy said, listening. "She didn't come out."

"No, she didn't. And so I called to her but there was no answer. So, I went through the portieres; she works back here. And then I saw her on the floor – dead with that hat pin…it was horrible. I've never seen a dead person before and…and then I ran out and went to Adam."

"And about how much time passed since you saw the body and now?" Roy asked.

"Well," Sibella looked at Adam, imploring him to assist her. "I have no idea!"

"I'd say about 20 minutes," Adam said quietly. He knew Sibella was greatly upset; she was talking too quickly, being far too animated and she was flushed. "I came here with Sibella, checked the body, looked about for a moment and saw the mess, and then we went to tell you."

"Okay," Roy said. "Did you get all that so far?" Roy asked Clem Foster.

"Yes, sir," Clem said. He had been jotting information in a small notebook. The pencil needed sharpening and the wood was scratching on the paper as he wrote. He licked the blunt lead to darken the lettering.

"Was there anyone else in the store?" Roy asked.

"Of course not! Don't you think I would have mentioned it to you if there had? And if there was another person, I certainly would have told them the body of Mme. Adair was in the back room and that she had been killed! Shouldn't you be looking for clues or such instead of asking me such silly questions?"

"Sibella," Adam said, gently touching her arm. "These things are important. You were upset and there may be a few things you've forgotten."

"I suppose there might be something but..." Sibella sighed. "Is there anything else, Sheriff? I want to go home. I have a headache and need to lie down. Will you see me home, Adam?"

"Yes. As soon as Sheriff Coffee is finished with us."

"Well, I appreciate you not whisking her away yet," Roy said sarcastically. "So, you saw no one else, Mrs. Cartwright?"

"No one."

"But it's possible someone else was here and left the shop after you."

"Well…I suppose it's possible. I mean…"

"You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Cartwright."

"Why do you say that?" Sibella asked.

"Because you could just as easily have been a victim if the killer was still in the shop."

"Oh….I…" Sibella looked up at Adam, her eyes wide with the new idea that she could have ended up with a hat pin in her heart as well.

Adam pulled Sibella next to him, one arm about her waist.

"Roy, I checked the back door to the alley and it's open. More than likely, the killer slipped out the back instead of walking out the front, especially since this room is ransacked. Someone was looking for something – perhaps money. Maybe Mme. Adair walked in on him and that's why she was killed. Look around. There are scissors, needles, hat pins, cords, all sorts of items that can be used as weapons. We need to decide if the motive was robbery or murder."

Clem suppressed a smile as Roy's expression became one of aggravation.

"We, Adam?" Roy asked, barely containing his irritation, "I have a great deal of respect for you – you know that. You're an intelligent man and I've known you years. I allowed you to stay while I'm interrogating your wife because this must be traumatic for her and she needs your support. But I would appreciate it if you'd let me run my investigation in my manner. Is that all right?"

Adam controlled himself. He admired Roy Coffee – the man was crafty and cunning and saw things other didn't notice. But he was also, slow, plodding and ruminated far too much over the next step in any investigation. Besides, Adam had a gut feeling this was more than the mere murder of a shop owner who walked in on a robbery. "Of course. I just wanted to let you know. But also, Mme. Adair is cold and rigor mortis has set. She's been dead a while. I'd say the killer's long gone."

"Well, I'll just let Doc Martin decide all that." Roy Coffee pulled himself up tall. "Clem, I'm through with Mrs. Cartwright. You can go get Doc now."

"Just one more thing," Adam said. Clem paused to listen. "Since the front door was unlocked, I'm guessing Mme. Adair was killed before she had a chance to close shop last evening."

Roy pursed his lips. "Yes, Adam. I thought the same thing. Now why don't you take your wife home since I have no more questions for the time being. And please, Mrs. Cartwright, don't discuss this with anyone."

"Well," Adam arched an eyebrow. "Miss Pear and two railroad men were present when Sibella said there had been a murder. They'll probably talk about it, especially since the men are having dinner tonight at the Ponderosa. I don't think it can be kept confidential."

Roy shook his head. Women. They did talk. "Well, keep it as quiet as you can. Clem? The doctor?"

"Yes, sir," Clem said, and tipping his hat to Sibella and grinning at Adam, Clem left out the back door to fetch the doctor.


	3. Chapter 3

**I have had some nice guest reviews and I thank you, but I am still deleting them as I won't open that door again; it's too easily abused.**

 **III**

Adam held the reins, guiding the light, two-wheeled buggy to their house, Sibella seated beside him. The cabriolet had been a purchase for Sibella, a way for her to get to town or to the Ponderosa, although he discouraged that; he didn't like her traveling the lengthy distance to the ranch house by herself, but Virginia City was only a little over three miles from their modest homestead on the edge of Cartwright property. The flashy blue roan mare was Adam's gift as well. He had seen the mare at a horse auction where he and Hoss were selling Ponderosa stock and knew Sibella would fall in love with the small horse. Sibella had named her Delilah.

It was past noon, the sun a little to the west. And since they had left town, Sibella had sat in silence. It worried Adam and he wanted to distract her from the gory scene she had stumbled upon. Although she considered herself sophisticated at 25 years, Sibella was still young in many ways and Adam felt the overpowering need to shield her from life's harshness.

"How's your headache?"

She didn't turn her head toward him. "Better. Thank you."

He'd need to try another way to distract her. "Sibella, why is Pa watching Noah? Is Mrs. George ill?" Mrs. George was their housekeeper and watched Noah when necessary.

"What?" This time, she did turn and as always, Adam's heart beat a bit faster, he loved her so despite her stubbornness and occasional silliness.

"Why is Pa watching Noah?" And then it came to him. "Are you still trying to arrange a romance between them?"

"No…well, Mrs. George is a widow and she does think your father is handsome, and since she's working on a new dress for the spring social, well, I thought that perhaps if your father saw her sewing, it might occur to him to ask her about the dance…" Sibella went silent and studied her husband. He was attempting to get her mind off the murder and she loved him all the more for it but he did often treat her like fine china. "Adam, I know what you're trying to do and I do appreciate it, but I can't help thinking about Mme. Adair. One day she was alive and the next, dead. It's so awful."

Sibella slid closer to Adam and slipped her arm through his as he drove the horse. "I want to thank you for, well, for not treating me like a hysterical woman. I suppose in a way, I was. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, seeing something like that. It makes life - more real and all I could think of was to find you. Does that seem foolish?"

Adam smiled. "No, not foolish at all. And I'm glad you came to me. I imagine it's been an awful experience. But just put it out of your mind."

"How can I do that? Just put it out of my mind." Sibella released his arm and sat straight. "Just tell me, Adam. How am I supposed to put it out of my mind?"

"Perhaps I misspoke," Adam said patiently. "I suppose you can't, but just rest in the knowledge that Sheriff Coffee will find her killer."

"I don't think he'll find the killer. Why, Adam, he wasn't even looking. He just stood there asking all sorts of ridiculous questions – twice! I could do better at solving her murder than he can."

Adam noticed the sudden expression on Sibella's face. She had an idea and if it was anything like her other ideas, it meant trouble.

"Sibella, what are you thinking?"

She looked at him innocently. "What, dear?"

"I asked what you're thinking, but I don't know why I bother since I already know."

"You always think you know me so well. So, tell me, darling – what am I thinking?"

"That you want to do a little detecting on your own. Am I right or am I right?"

"Why that's just silly. I wouldn't even know how to go about solving a murder." She folded her gloved hands together in her lap, looking at the passing landscape. "But I do feel I owe her something."

Adam pulled back on the reins, stopping the two-wheeled buggy. "Now, you listen to me, Sibella" She still looked at the trees set back from the narrow dirt road. "Sibella!" Adam said, "look at me." She slowly turned her face toward him.

"We should be seeing the jonquils soon, don't you think?" Sibella asked.

"Don't change the subject. When it comes to what happened today, you need to mind your own business," Adam said, shaking his finger at her as he did at Noah when telling him, no. "I'm serious. If there's a woman-killer on the loose, the last thing I want is for him to think you're on to him."

"Do you think a killer is on the loose, Adam? I mean someone who wants to kill again. Do you really think that?" Sibella's eyes grew large. She hadn't considered the idea that the person could kill again, come creeping about looking for women alone in their homes or unescorted on the Streets of Virginia City. What about all the widows or saloon maids who lived alone in a back room somewhere. Her heart began to pound with actual fear. It made her realize that up to now, she had felt completely safe. But that was due to Adam; he always made her feel safe and loved.

Adam sighed and snapped the reins again. In another ten minutes, they'd be home. "No. I don't think so but just because I don't, doesn't mean there isn't one."

"Why don't you think so?" Sibella couldn't help but admire Adam; he was so handsome and yet so intelligent. And so stubborn.

"First, if whoever it was, killed just to enjoy killing, then it was a pretty cold killing."

"I don't understand."

"If he wanted to kill a woman, any woman, because he took pleasure in it, then it would have been slower – more methodical. He would have strangled her or molested her first…" Adam stopped talking.

"Or molested her? You mean forced himself on her?" That also hadn't occurred to Sibella and she felt a tightness in her throat, one hand flying up to clutch her neck.

"Sibella, let's not talk about this anymore. You've told Roy what you know and now it's not our business; it's out of our hands. I'm not going to speculate anymore."

"Well, it may not be your business but it is mine!" Sibella said, anger rising. "Mme. Adair was murdered in her shop and the women of Virginia City – why all the women around here need to be made aware that a killer is on the loose! At the next Women's Auxiliary meeting and the quilting bee, I'm going to bring up protecting ourselves, learning how to handle a gun and…"

"Sibella! Enough! Now you listen to me! You won't be going into town until this matter is resolved. You're going to stay at home with Mrs. George and Noah and I may even post Chauncey with a rifle to guard the place—or to make sure you don't leave. Do you understand me? This isn't a game."

"I never said it was. But I do think it's important that we women learn how to defend ourselves. I was taught archery in school and my father once showed me how to handle a .22."

"A bow and arrow? Sibella, do you really think you can walk around with a quiver on your back or hefting a .22 rifle everywhere?"

"No, but that's not the point. Why I was reading just the other day, that in New York, some women are even boxing – in rings. Granted, it seems that men just want to see two women wearing bloomers hit one another, but it's beginning to attract financial backers. And there are even classes in places like Philadelphia and St. Louis that teach women how to use ordinary items such as a parasol, as weapons! Deadly weapons!"

"God forbid," Adam mumbled to himself. "Something else to worry about; Sibella and her parasol."

"What was that, Adam?"

"Just this – you are not to go to Virginia City or anywhere else until this is over. I'm not going to say it again."

"Oh, Adam. Really. I'll go where I…"

"Sibella, if you behave like a child, I'll treat you like one – a recalcitrant child – and take you over my knee. Do you understand?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Sibella asked, fuming at Adam's threat.

"Well, I'd enjoy the view." And Adam turned the horse into the drive up to the house.

~ 0 ~

Not even waiting for Adam to hand her down, Sibella stepped down from the buggy and huffed into the house. Adam just didn't understand that the world was changing and that women could take care of themselves – if they were taught. It didn't matter though, what Adam said; somehow, she would arrange for a shooting class for any woman who wants it. Maybe even boxing lessons. And if she used what feminine wiles she had, Sibella figured she cold possible convince her father-in-law or even Hoss to teach them. Maybe even Adam himself.

"Missus, you're home early," Mrs. George said as she placed Noah down. She had been sitting on the sofa, dandling Noah who had cookie crumbs smeared on his mouth and hands. He smiled at his mother and toddled over to her.

"Yes, I didn't manage to – something happened and Mr. Cartwright brought me home. Where's my father-in-law?" Sibella looked about after pulling a handkerchief out of her reticule to wipe Noah's face and hands as he begged to be picked-up, raising his arms and tip-toeing while demanding, "Up! Up!"

"Mr. Cartwright was called back to the Ponderosa. Unexpected guests. An old friend from somewhere or something. I was going to put Noah down for his afternoon nap. He's had lunch and a cookie. His bottle's ready."

Sibella held Noah on one hip and pulled off her bonnet with one hand as he reached for the ribbons. "I'll put him down. Bring me the bottle, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Something was very wrong, Nellie George thought. The Missus seemed distracted and her hair was tousled. Perhaps she and the Mister had pulled off the road for a tryst. It was a possibility but then, Sibella would be in a far better mood.

Sibella was heading for the stairs when Adam walked in and Noah began to cry out, "Papa! Papa!", stretching his arms out. "Down, momma, down! Want Papa!"

"Just like you men to stick together," Sibella said, putting down her son who ran, tumbling once, to his father's waiting arms.

"What can I say, he's my boy," Adam said, kissing his son's dark head. "How's my little man?"

"I make the child clean and presentable and he wants you." Sibella pulled off her leather gloves and waved them for emphasis. "That is the perfect example of why women need to bond together to protect ourselves and each other. We can't depend on men at all." And she continued up the stairs while Adam grinned after her. He did like to watch the sway of her skirts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to all of you who have left a review; I am pleased to have some readers for this and I appreciate your views on the story.**

 **IV**

Adam sat at the large mahogany desk staring at the numbers on the ledger page but unable to concentrate. A cool cross-breeze came in the windows but once the sun began to lower, it would be chilly. It was that time of year, warming during the day but with the last remnants of winter returning at night. He considered he should have stayed home. After all, he had a dinner to attend and a wife to comfort and support.

Although the business was now legally Cartwright & Sons, Ltd. and encompassed silver mining, cattle and timbering, he was responsible for the financial aspects of all three ventures. Adam wrote the drafts for buying new equipment, new stock, and any other expenses the business incurred. He also wrote the paychecks for Hoss and Joe, Hop Sing, his father and himself. The Ponderosa expenses, well, that was a different set of books. Legally, Adam knew it was better that way and gave the job of paying the hands their monthly due to his father. But Ben was tiring of it and hoped to hand it over to Joe or Hoss but both shied away as if the lines of checks and balances exuded some poison.

Adam sighed and glanced out at the blue, clear sky just as he had when a child and bored with the school lesson. As the teacher droned on, he would hear the bees chirping, the occasional _chwirk_ of a hawk, and once a bee had come in through the open window and the students all laughed as it buzzed about the teacher, Miss Harris, attracted by her rose water scent. She had batted at it and shrieked and ran about the room, finally heading out the front door, the bee in single-minded pursuit. Adam smiled to himself at the memory, but instead of the sounds of the natural world, he only heard the sounds of the street below drifting up. "The world is too much with us…" he said softly, "getting and spending, we lay waste our powers." He wanted to be home with Noah and Sibella on such a beautiful day, not in an office. And his thoughts slipped to the small house, away from the papers on his desk or the steel dip pen in his hand.

 _"_ _Do you mind if I go back to the office? I still have the books to balance; it's close to the end of the month and I have to reconcile them so I can go over them with my father."_

 _Sibella was in her chemise, stepping out of the skirts of her two-piece dress and then tossing it over the nearby chair. She eschewed a corset, depending on eating sparingly and taking exercise to maintain her slim waist. Besides, the boning in the bodice of the dress was uncomfortable enough. And thank goodness that voluminous skirts were passé!_

 _Adam noticed Sibella's shapely legs in the knee-length pantalettes and felt desire rise in him again. How easy it would be to take her in his arms, kiss her neck and bosom, tumble her onto the waiting mattress and make the trip home even more worth his time. Especially since, as he stood watching, Sibella, with a dramatic flourish, pulled down the coverlet along with the top sheet. Adam caught the light trace of lemon verbena._

 _"_ _No, I don't mind," she replied. "Since Noah's down, I think I'll take a nap myself since I'm sure your father will keep us late tonight. I do wonder who the old friend is who's come to visit. Might even be someone you know, Adam – an old friend of yours as well." Sibella slid between the sheets and pulled the top one up to her neck._

 _"_ _I thought we would stay home tonight." Adam stepped closer to the side of the bed and looked down at her._

 _"_ _Those two men in your office this morning are coming, aren't they?"_

 _"_ _You know they are. What have they to do with anything?" He waited. Sibella had been thinking and he didn't like the way the conversation was going._

 _"_ _Well, they haven't been scolded by Sheriff Coffee and ordered not to talk about what happened this morning and I don't want them talking about it without my knowing what they say. I mean, they may not be accurate. And," Sibella said sitting up, "you know everyone in Virginia City will know all about it tomorrow morning. Besides I need something to…take my mind off things."_

 _Adam sat down on the side of the bed. "Is that it? Because if you'd really like to go, think you're up to it, then we'll go."_

 _Sibella lightly touched Adam's face. "Well…there's one more thing. Mr. Hancock was so nice to be concerned about me and he is handsome with his blue eyes and blond hair. I wouldn't mind seeing him again." Sibella looked up at Adam from under her lashes, smiling slightly. "If he let his hair grow a bit longer and wore an open-necked smock, he'd pass for a romantic poet."_

 _"_ _Is that so? A poet."_

 _"_ _Yes. Maybe I'll ask him if he ever writes poetry."_

 _"_ _Maybe you can be his muse. But, if I'm going to lose you to him, I may as well get my fill of you now," and Sibella laughed as Adam pulled off his jacket, pulled off his tie, and untucked his shirt before attacking the buttons on his weskit._

 _And she slid back down, stretching her arms over her head until they met the headboard, practically quivering with anticipation of the touch of his hands. She watched Adam until his polished black boots hit the floor and the tossed trousers landed on her neglected skirt. Then Sibella stretched out her arms, welcoming Adam into her embrace._

There was a slight knock on the office door, bringing Adam away from Sibella and how he had left her, tousled and sated and ready for sleep.

"Yes!"

The door opened and Miss Pear stood holding the doorknob. "I made a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?"

"That would be nice, thank you." She left and Adam closed the ledger. Later.

Miss Pear was quickly back with a white china mug of steaming coffee – black with two sugars.

"Anything else?" Miss Pear patiently waited.

"No, but have a seat, would you?"

Miss Pear flushed. Mr. Cartwright had asked her to stay. What was he going to say? Talk about? So many times, she had fantasized about his revealing his mistake of marrying his wife, of telling her that Sibella was silly and expensive and couldn't cook. Miss Pear knew how important the ability to cook was – her mother had repeatedly emphasized it - but all Mrs. Cartwright seemed interested in was overthrowing the status quo. "A troublemaker" Mrs. Pear had labeled her with a scowl. "A bohemian with all those ideas about women voting! What poppycock!"

But it wasn't that subject at all.

"Are you aware of what happened this morning – what Mrs. Cartwright saw?"

"Oh…um…" Miss Pear didn't want to appear an eavesdropper but she had heard, not only when Mrs. Cartwright rushed into the inner office, but after Mr. Philpot and Mr. Hancock had left. She hadn't even needed to stand beside the door to hear; Mrs. Cartwright wasn't discreet. "Well, yes, sir. From what I could gather, the milliner was killed – murdered. Is that what you're talking about?"

"Yes. It seems Madame Adair was killed." Adam couldn't bring himself to say _murdered_. "My wife was concerned and if my question is too intrusive, please tell me. But, would you know how to defend yourself from an attacker?"

"Mrs. Cartwright is concerned about me? About being attacked?"

"No, not you in particular but the women of Virginia City in general."

"Oh, I see." Miss Pear was a bit disappointed. She had hoped the "intrusive" question would be if she had a regular beau or not. But it wasn't. "You mean, could I defend myself if a man attacked me? Tried to murder me?"

"Well, I didn't mean murder, but if a man accosted you, could you protect yourself?" Adam was uncomfortable discussing such matters with Miss Pear but earlier that afternoon, while sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping on his boots, Sibella had placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed the back of his neck, telling him in dulcet tones that she had decided to carry her derringer tucked into her small reticule. After all, she had said while playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, she may one day need it; she just hoped she could shoot straight.

"I don't know that I could. Why do you ask? Is there a murderer on the loose?" For Mr. Cartwright to broach a subject such as her personal safety, it must be serious indeed!

"No, there's not a killer on the loose." Adam had feared his question might start a rumor and then a panic. "It's just that Mrs. Cartwright suggested that women be taught to handle firearms. Just in case a woman ever found herself in a situation…" Adam sighed; best to just say it. "If there was a class to teach women how to shoot – use a gun, do you think any women you know would be interested? Would you be interested?"

"Why yes. Both my mother and I might be, depending on who would teach it?"

"It's just an idea, as I said, a suggestion from my wife. I was thinking of giving her a few lessons and knowing her, she would say, and rightly so, it's almost as easy to give a class with five people in it as one. I was just interested in another woman's opinion. Thank you, Miss Pear. I hope I haven't kept you from anything."

"No, sir. Nothing – just some filing." She stood up. "Will there be anything else?"

"No."

Miss Pear, with a polite smile, left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She often wondered why he preferred the door closed even when he wasn't with clients. Mr. Cartwright was a puzzling man, so solitary and yet, when around others, he seemed to enjoy their company. It was confusing and Miss Pear couldn't quite decipher him.

~ 0 ~

Adam stopped and pressed the thumb and forefinger of one hand into his eyebrows. He knew a headache was coming on if he continued with the small numbers on the pale paper. Glasses were probably a necessity as the 8's and 3's were starting to become confused, but he detested the notion that his eyes were beginning to fail him when it came to close work. He sat back. It was later than he had realized; almost 5:30 according to the clock. And he still had to wash, shave and dress for dinner at his father's house. And now there would be more guests than just Philpot and Hancock.

Suddenly there were raised voices in the anteroom, one of them he recognized as Sheriff Coffee's, one was Miss Pear's and the other – yes, it was Sibella's.

"Oh, hell," Adam mumbled, pushing back his leather chair, but before he could reach the door, Miss Pear, obviously distressed, opened it from her side and said, "Mr. Cartwright, it's the sheriff and…"

"Thank you, Miss Pear." Sibella said, walking in, her head lowered, Sheriff Coffee behind her, his brow furrowed and his mouth pursed to such a degree that he looked as if he was attempting to swallow his mustache. "Adam," Sibella looked up at him, her lips quivering, "Sheriff Coffee wants to arrest me!"


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

"What's this all about?" Adam asked. He could feel the headache like a claw, grip the back of his neck and insinuate its tendrils through his skull. Soon, his head would be throbbing.

Roy determinedly said, "Why don't you sit down, Mrs. Cartwright. I need to talk to your husband." Sheriff Coffee faced Adam who kept glancing down at Sibella; she kept her head lowered, her face hidden by the brim of her western-style hat. And she was dressed in an old riding habit that she wore while out on the property exercising Delilah; Sibella wouldn't be seen in town dressed such – under normal circumstances.

"Are you going to arrest her, Roy?" Adam asked. He wanted to get to the point quickly but his mind was racing ahead about possible bail and how long the whole matter would take. And what about Mrs. George and Noah? He would have to send a message to her so she wouldn't worry and go ahead and feed, bathe and put down Noah for the night. And he had wanted so much to see his son again before the day was over.

"I _should_ arrest her." Sibella looked up at Roy, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. He hoped she didn't cry; he could bear anything but the tears of a beautiful woman or a child. They broke down his resolution. "You know where I found her?" Adam shook his head, no. "In the milliner shop. She was coming down from Mme. Adair's quarters – she lived above the shop, you know – and apparently, your wife had broken in."

"I didn't break in!" Sibella said, gripping the padded arms of the chair and looking up at both Sheriff Coffee and Adam. "The wood slats had already been pried loose and the door was unlocked! I only had to walk in."

"Wait a minute," Adam said. "What wood slats…I'm not following."

"I had Clem nail pieces of wood across the back door to secure it – we couldn't find the key. I didn't want anyone going in a helping themselves to anything; times are hard for some people and a hungry child could turn any father into a looter. But I didn't expect Mrs. Cartwright to become one."

"I am not a looter and I didn't break in! Look at me! I don't have a crowbar up my sleeve! I'm not strong enough to have pulled the wood away by hand! And I didn't tie a rope to Delilah's saddle and have her pull them off! Really!"

"Sibella," Adam said. "Let Roy finish. Roy, what are the charges?"

"Well, trespassing, breaking into the place…"

"I didn't break in!" Sibella was exasperated. It seemed no one could comprehend that fact.

"Sibella!" Adm barked. "Just be quiet for five minutes, would you?" Sibella sat back in her chair; Adam was close to his breaking point and she wanted to avoid his wrath. She knew that he could only be pushed so far.

"Anyway, Adam, I didn't search her. I thought maybe you could ask her if she has anything in her pockets or such."

"Of course. Sibella, would you empty your pockets on my desk?"

Sibella stood up looking guilty. She reached into one of the jacket's pockets and pulled out a small ring of keys, laying them on the desk. I don't have anything else but that." She held open the pockets for Roy.

Adam stared at the smaller version of a jailer's key ring that held three keys. He didn't recognize it.

Roy picked up the keys. "What are these to?"

"The shop." She dropped her head.

"Sibella," Adam said, "You stole the keys?'

"I just…when you two were talking, I saw them on the table and just lay my hand on them and closed my fingers about them. I just…I thought I could use them to visit the shop later." She sat back down.

Adam made a sound of disgust. "Why? Why would you need to go back to the shop? I told you it was none of your business and to leave things to Roy!"

"I know, Adam, I know." She looked at him, pleading for his understanding. "But see! The keys prove I didn't break in! I could have just unlocked the front door and walked in. I doubt anyone would have thought anything about it and if they did, I would have said I was picking up my hat, which I never did…"

Roy cleared his throat. "Speakin' of, may I see your hat?"

Sibella pulled off her hat and handed it to Roy. "I've nothing hidden in the hatband or such." Roy checked the hat, running a finger under the inside band, and handed it back.

"Thank you, ma'am." Then he turned to Adam. "Now, Adam, I don't much care how you do it, lock your wife in her room, tie her to a bedpost or hand her over to your pa to watch, but keep her away from the milliner's shop. I see her there again and I will arrest her."

"Roy," Adam said wearily, "I'll do my best. And thank you."

Roy tipped his hat to Sibella and walked out. Adam half-sat on the edge of his desk, one long leg still making contact with the floor.

"Sibella, I don't know what to do with you. I've tried to explain that you're playing with fire – this isn't a game! Someone killed Mme. Adair, stabbed her in the heart and we don't know who it was. Stay away from the shop. If you don't, well, I may actually tie you to the bedstead. Why don't you listen to me?"

"I'm sorry, Adam. I just, well, I hoped I could help. Only it seems that because it's a woman, it isn't being investigated as it should be."

"You don't know what Roy's doing and he works just as hard to find justice for everyone who needs it. He's been doing this for longer than you've been on this earth. Leave this case alone."

In a small voice, unsure of Adam's response, Sibella said, "Don't you want to know what I've found?"

"Sibella, did you listen to nothing I said? So, you did take something from the shop."

"No, not from the shop - from her living quarters." Sibella stood up and reached inside the neck of her blouse and pulled out a few envelopes – obviously letters – and a tintype. "Someone had ransacked upstairs as well but they left these – obviously because they didn't think these things were important and they may not be."

"Sibella, you've stolen evidence."

"No, I haven't. I mean if Sheriff Coffee thought it was evidence, he would have already taken these so I'm not stealing evidence. I found these items. Look at this tintype." Sibella placed the sepia-tinted photograph on the desk and Adam stood to examine it.

"It's a picture of a Confederate officer, isn't it?' Sibella asked.

Adam held it in his hand, looking closely. "Yes. By the uniform insignias, I'd say the rank of corporal."

"How can you tell?" Sibella leaned in close to see.

"See these double chevron bars? That's for corporal." Adam flipped the photograph over, looking for a date or a name or a sentiment. "Nothing written on the back. Why do you think this might be important?"

Sibella took the photograph from Adam and looked at the earnest face staring back, that of a young man, just on the verge of adulthood. "I wonder if he's still alive."

"Don't think about such things," Adam said, his voice dropping. "So many young men died, some of them only 14 or 15 years old. Farm boys without shoes fighting with old single-shot rifles from home – no government issue weapons. It was such a waste…"

"I'm sorry, Adam." Sibella held his arm, leaning her head against it. Adam never wanted to talk about the war and she never pressed him. She wasn't even sure she wanted to hear about it. It was difficult to imagine the man who held her in the dark, who kissed her and ran his strong hands over her at night actually had killed men in battle with the very hands that pleasured her. Maybe even the man whose picture she held.

"You didn't answer my question, Sibella. Why do you think this is important?"

Sibella looked up at him. "I don't know that it is. But I also don't know that it isn't."

"Well, that's definitive," He said sarcastically. "What about the letters? Why did you take those?" Adam rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't know what's in them but they may have some information about her next of kin or such. And I was wondering, can we pay for her funeral?"

Adam smiled despite the throbbing pain in his head, and pulled Sibella to him, kissing the top of her head. "We'll see. If her estate won't cover it, we will. But, Sibella, we have to turn these letters over to the sheriff."

"I will, I promise! But I don't see why—even the killer didn't want them. Just let me read them first, will you, Adam?"

"Sibella…" He couldn't yet see any importance in the letters as to solving Mme. Adair's murder or even that it would hurt to later hand them over to Roy, but he didn't want to tell Sibella; she would then think he approved of such action. And God knew she was hard enough to rein in as it was.

"Please, Adam, like I said, Sheriff Coffee doesn't want them or he would have taken them."

"He and Clem may not have gone through the second floor yet. You'll have to hand these over."

"I will - but just not yet." And Sibella set her jaw. "Besides, he'll probably just store them away in some musty old file where they'll be no good to anyone. And I hate to think this photograph will be tossed aside." She looked at the young corporal, her face becoming soft. "He was important to her."

~ 0 ~

Adam had said goodnight to Miss Pear, told her to go home for the day and thanked her. Miss Pear had smiled and said she hoped they had a pleasant evening. And she watched Adam until he and Sibella stepped out the door and he closed it behind them. He had a headache – that she knew. She saw it in his eyes.

Miss Pear walked into Adam's office, went to the window, and looked down into the street. She waited. During the workday, Mr. Cartwright's horse was kept at the livery stable and saddled again at 5:30 in the evening. After 10 minutes, Miss Pear's patience was rewarded. Adam Cartwright passed underneath on his tall chestnut but this evening, beside him rode Sibella Cartwright on her little grey horse.


	6. Chapter 6

**One thing I ask, if you think you know whodunnit, please don't put it in a review - even at the end. You can PM me but, well, would Agatha Christie have given away the reveal of the guilty party before its time? I think not - not that I am in her league, but I won't tell either!**

 **VI**

As soon as Sibella and Adam entered their house, they were greeted by Noah in his feet bare and wearing his sleeping gown. The child laughed and held up his arms to his "Papa", raising himself on tip-toe. Adam swept the child up in his arms, held him almost with desperation, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Ow!" Noah said as Adam's rough stubble abraded his tender skin.

"Sorry, son. I'll let your mother take you while I go shave." He handed the child to Sibella and took to the stairs. It was an hour before they had to be at the Ponderosa and although that was a brief time for Sibella who would probably make them late, he wanted to be shaved and dressed on time.

As he stood shirtless at the shaving stand, Sibella came in the bedroom. Even though he could see her in the mirror, he stopped and turned to her.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready? We don't have much time."

Sibella glanced at the suit jacket hanging on the wooden valet, Adam's wallet, pocket watch and such in the tray. Mme. Adair's letters were still in the jacket's pocket along with the tintype. Sibella hadn't yet read the letters and her curiosity was getting the better of her good intentions.

"I know you don't feel up to it, Adam. We can stay home; I don't mind. A few grains of laudanum will help your headache." Although Sibella was truly sympathetic when Adam had a headache and became defeated by the pain, she also considered that with Adam deeply asleep, not only wouldn't he be enduring the agony but she could read the pilfered letters and consider the contents. On the ride home from Virginia City, Adam had said that he would determine if they held any important information but no matter what, he would turn them over to Roy Coffee. Sibella sulked but Adam didn't seem to notice. It must be a terrible headache Sibella surmised, for Adam to ignore her snit.

"No," Adam said. "It's not yet that bad and maybe if I eat something, I'll feel better."

"By not that bad, you mean your head hasn't yet exploded," Sibella said, coming up behind him. She wrapped her arms about him, laying one cheek against his broad back. "I was the one who insisted we go so I'll get dressed." She looked around him to see his reflection, his lower face still partly covered by lather. "But tonight, we can leave whenever you choose. Remember that. And I hope you're not going just for me."

Adam looked into the mirror and their eyes met in the glass. "Sibella, I do everything for you, for you and Noah. You should know that by now."

~ 0 ~

Hoss took Sibella's heavy cape and complimented her on how pretty she looked, kissing her on the cheek. And Sibella knew she did. Mrs. George had helped her with her hair. As there was no time for a crimping iron, Mrs. George had pulled her hair back and up, then wound sections of hair about two fingers and pinned them. A decorative, jeweled comb finished the look. They considered spraying the piled curls with sugar-water to keep them stiff but Sibella decided against it; it might attract night insects. Besides, Adam detested the stickiness it gave her hair. Instead they used a net that was practically invisible against her dark hair.

And her dress, although low in the neck, wasn't too low. The deep V-neck was simple with ruffles of the same fabric, and the sleeves, slightly past the elbows, had two ruffles at the end – the deep violet of the dress and above it, an ecru lace ruffle that was reflected in the draping on the over-skirt. And when Adam had kissed her before they left the house, she could see in his eyes that he admired her.

"Why thank you, Hoss."

"Sorry we're late, Pa," Adam said, removing his hat. The rifle he had brought along was tucked under the buggy seat; he had seen no reason to bring it into the house. "Like a woman, Sibella took too long dressing."

"Well, it was well-worth the time spent. Sibella, you are lovely," Ben said, genuinely happy to see them both. "Adam – Sibella, let me introduce you to our guests."

Sibella glanced about and when she saw the woman whose bosom was straining against the bodice of her dress, her abundant breasts almost spilling over the low neck of the deep green dress, she turned to Adam. He had noticed the woman immediately and jealousy gripped her; Adam was actually looking at another woman and from what she could tell, he appreciated the view. Sibella wished she had worn the dress with the lower neck; then Adam wouldn't look anywhere else but at her décolletage.

Mr. Philpot, the railroad man, smiled, his girth pulling at the buttons on his fancy brocade weskit. He said he was glad to see Sibella and shook Adam's hand, happy to see him again.

"And it's good to see you again, Mrs. Cartwright," Mr. Hancock said, holding Sibella's outstretched gloved hand and touching it with his lips. "These circumstances are much more pleasant than those this morning."

"What?" Ben asked, confused. "Did something happen this morning?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to bring up anything disagreeable," Mr. Hancock said. "It's just that…"

"I'll tell you about it later, Pa," Adam said. "You haven't yet introduced me to your 'old friend', I believe is what Mrs. George said."

The old friend was Colonel Tucker Fitzhugh, "and this is his wife, Mrs. Fitzhugh. My eldest, Adam and his wife, Sibella. You remember Colonel Fitzhugh, don't you, Adam?"

"Yes, of course. You were stationed at Fort Churchill," Adam said, shaking the Colonel's hand. "We supplied Fort Churchill with timber and beef. Matter of fact, I drew that rough sketch of the layout, where the store and headquarters should be."

"Yes, Yes, I was at Fort Churchill. Those damn Indians – caused more trouble to us than the rebs did during the war. But I'm surprised you recognize me. Not the man I used to be – I'm twice the man I used to be!" He laughed, making light of his weight, his double chins vibrating. He raised the cut-crystal glass of bourbon and then emptied it with one swig. He seemed to suddenly noticed Sibella. "Glad to make your acquaintance Mrs. Cartwright. Lovely, you're really lovely. I have been hearing delightful stories about how clever and wonderful young Noah is."

"Why thank you," Sibella said. "He is wonderful if I say so myself. Do you have any grandchildren, Colonel?" Sibella felt awkward and asked the only polite response that came to her. She felt off-balance in the situation. Usually she was the center of male attention but the other woman, although much older, seemed to exude an unrestrained sexuality.

"No, no children, unfortunately. My first wife, God bless her, and I had no children. But, my darling Fanny," the Colonel nodded his head in her direction, "she has a daughter in San Francisco who I've never met. That's where we're traveling, to see Rosemary and her new baby. So, I thought since we had to come this way anyway, I'd stop by to see my old acquaintance, Ben Cartwright." The Colonel suddenly went silent and then, as if to punctuate that the conversation was over, he moved to the center of the room. "Would you mind refreshing my drink, Ben?" The Colonel held out his glass while Ben reached for the decanter and poured another drink.

"So, you're Ben's eldest," Mrs. Fitzhugh said from her seat in one of the chairs flanking the fireplace. She indolently put out one gloved arm, the wrist laced with jeweled bracelets, the diamonds and rubies and sapphires glittering.

"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Fitzhugh," Adam said smiling.

"Oh please," she said smiling slyly as Adam bent down to take her hand in his, "call me Fanny." She raised her chin, offering Adam a better view of her bosom. The diamond necklace she wore had one, large teardrop pearl at its center that seemed to direct a man's gaze to the deep, lush valley between her breasts. She held Adam's hand a heartbeat too long and Sibella glanced about to see if she was the only one discomfited. "When you smile, Adam, you look like a pirate who's just ravished the young virgin and delighted in the act." Adam laughed.

Hoss was standing, his hands in his jacket pockets, looking at the floor. Mr. Philpot was also standing, swirling the brandy in the snifter he held, and Mr. Hancock seemed as unfazed as did Colonel Fitzhugh at the obvious flirtatious action and the inappropriate comment from Mrs. Fitzhugh. But Ben seemed to notice, cleared his throat, and asked Sibella to sit and could he get her a drink. Some sherry, perhaps? Sibella accepted and Adam asked for a whiskey and then, left Fanny and sat beside Sibella on the settee.

They made pleasant conversation, Adam asking about Joe – where was he? Hoss answered that Joe had cut the low card, "so right 'bout now he's probably scraping burnt beans off a tin plate, drinking scorched coffee and smellin' nothin' but them stinkin' beeves." He guffawed and then realized that it wasn't proper conversation for mixed company and quickly apologized.

Hop Sing, wearing his best tangzhuang and his leather slippers, proudly announced dinner.

Ben sat at one end of the long table, Adam at the other, while Fanny Fitzhugh sat on one side of the table between Hoss and Mr. Hancock who insisted everyone call him Archie. Sibella was put between Mr. Philpot and Colonel Fitzhugh who repeatedly helped himself to the decanter of red wine, complimenting Ben on the vintage burgundy from Bourgogne. Fanny Fitzhugh seemed not to notice her husband's excessive drinking but she did make a show of removing her elbow length gloves and all the men watched as if she was disrobing. And Sibella watched Adam.

During the soup course, Sibella attempted to make polite conversation with the Colonel who was on her left as she had been taught, but either the Colonel wasn't aware of dinner party etiquette or he just wasn't interested in talking. Finally, Ben noticed that Mrs. Fitzhugh seemed to be having a private conversation with Archie – at least that's what Sibella surmised as Ben, bypassing Hoss whose only interest was the tender slices of roast beef and small, buttered potatoes which he mashed with the back of his fork, brought up San Francisco and what a pleasant place it was to visit as long as one avoided the waterfront. And then they discussed the opera house, the magnificent restaurants, the headquarters of the railroad company and many other interesting aspects of the city including Nob Hill.

Sibella basically sat back and listened while she picked at her food, not really hungry, and watched how Fanny Fitzhugh kept glancing at Adam, even once slightly raising her wineglass to him. But the worst was that Adam acknowledged her by raising his glass in return, the light from the chandelier glittering off the cuts in the crystal like the diamonds Fanny wore. Sibella felt completely ignored and she didn't like the feeling. But worst was that she was outshone by this woman who blatantly displayed her assets and flirted with Archie Hancock and Adam – her Adam. And the Colonel didn't even seem to care.

Dessert was served in the great room along with coffee. Ben escorted Sibella to the area and Adam took Fanny's arm. She handed him her gloves which she hadn't slid back on, and placed her bare hand over his arm, and smiled up at him. Sibella watched his face – actually Adam's eyes – and noted that he was admiring her rounded bosoms that threatened to spill out over the lace-trimmed neck of her dress.

Sibella raged inside, passed on dessert but sat stiff-backed, as any proper lady would, sipping her coffee. But Fanny Fitzhugh lounged in the chair she chose, as if she was accepting company in her boudoir and instead of coffee, she took another glass of sherry.

"Now, what is all this about 'meeting in more pleasant circumstances'," Ben asked, looking at Archie. "What happened this morning?"


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

Adam moved to the edge of his seat – he had hoped the subject had been forgotten - but before he could speak, Archie said to Ben, "Your daughter-in-law saw a murder this morning."

"What?" Ben stared, open-mouthed. "Sibella, you saw a murder?"

Hoss, who preferred to stand over sitting, said, "Whyn't you say somethin' 'bout it, Adam? Who got killed?"

Adam put out his hands, palms toward the others, to diffuse the situation. Fanny Fitzhugh placed one bare hand to her neck and sat straight at the mention of a murder. Sibella noted Fanny must be very upset to forgo her seductive pose.

"Sibella didn't see a murder; she found the body, the milliner's, Madame Adair. We came this evening to hopefully forget about it for a time, to make up for how awful this day has been."

"A murderer on the loose in Virginia City," Fanny Fitzhugh said. "My goodness! One who kills women!" She fanned herself with one hand. "May I impose on you for a drink – a whiskey."

"Of course, Ben said, rushing to the liquor cabinet and pouring a shot for Mrs. Fitzhugh. "Here, Fanny."

Sibella turned to Adam as Fanny Fitzhugh made quick work of the whiskey, tossing it back and not even coughing. Adam smiled wryly and looked at Sibella.

"Does Roy know about it?" Ben asked.

"Of course. Do you think we'd keep it our little secret?" Adam replied. Ben was taken aback; Adam was often sarcastic but never in company. "I'm sorry, Pa. Of course, we told Roy. And…it's no excuse, but my head is killing me." Adam rubbed the back of his neck, moving his head, grimacing.

Fanny Fitzhugh suddenly stood. She paused for a moment and then glided gracefully to where Adam sat on the settee. "Let me see what I can do. I have a way with headaches. My first husband was a doctor and I learned many things from him. Where does the pain originate?"

Sibella wanted to tell Mrs. Fitzhugh to tend to her own husband and his excessive drinking, but found she couldn't speak. She watched as Fanny stood in front of Adam, bending over, displaying her assets, her mass of piled red-gold curls falling over her shoulders. She massaged Adam's temples with her gloveless hands, the gem bracelets lightly clicking against one another with the movements. Sibella wondered if the stones were paste.

"According to my deceased husband, some headaches are caused by the intense pressure of the blood moving through the vessels—pounding and throbbing." With two fingers, she touched a spot behind Adam's left ear. "He would blood-let and the patient would find release. He'd make the cut here, behind the ear - or anywhere the blood vessels were turgid – you know, hard and filled with blood." The room fell into embarrassed silence except for the Colonel who, slurring his words, asked for another brandy.

Adam reached up and gently removed Fanny's hand from his neck. "Thank you for the medical advice, Mrs. Fitzhugh, but I find a good night's sleep usually does the trick."

"Of course," Fanny said. "I too suffer from headaches and find that often, a release of built-up tension resolves the issue." She smiled at Sibella. "But then you have your wife to nurse you, but as my husband says, there's no substitute for experience."

As Fanny Fitzhugh walked back to her chair, all the gentlemen partly rose in acknowledgement, waiting until she sat, to sit back down themselves.

"Well," Hoss said, "speakin' of sleep, I'm callin' it a day. Good night everyone and nice to meet you Mr. Philpot and Archie. And Mr. And Mrs. Fitzhugh, I'll see you at breakfast. Adam, I'll make sure to pick up a copy of the _Territorial Enterprise_ to find out 'bout that killin'." Hoss wanted to stay and hear the details of the woman's murder, but sleep was beckoning more than curiosity. He'd find out soon enough anyway – probably at breakfast where both his appetites would be satisfied. Besides, he had a fear that after her attentions to Adam and Archie, Mrs. Fitzhugh might turn her lovely eyes on him. At least he assumed she had eyes and that they were lovely but he couldn't swear to to it. He realized he hadn't looked any higher than her collarbone all evening.

Ben cleared his throat. "Sibella, you found the body?"

"Well, yes. It was shocking, most shocking!" Finally, she was the center of attention but Adam didn't even look at her; he was bent over, one forearm resting on his knee and kneading his neck muscles with the other hand. "I went to pick up a hat and found her in the back – dead – stabbed in the heart with a hatpin."

Everyone sat, rapt – except Adam. Sibella continued. "I just stood there. I mean I didn't know what to do. All I could think of was to tell Adam, so, I went to his office and Miss Pear almost kept me from seeing him. That's when I met Mr. Hancock and…"

"Archie. Please call me Archie, Mrs. Cartwright. Especially since I may stay in Virginia City a few days longer. Besides, we're not that far apart in age – no need for such formality." Then he turned his attention to Adam; Sibella sat open-mouthed at being dismissed. "Adam, your father was telling me about the newest silver mine on the Ponderosa. I know how valuable silver is now with the Treasury buying it all and printing the money, and I'd like to make an investment in silver mining for myself. I'll be moving from Baltimore to the railroad's headquarters in San Francisco; I feared they were going to send me to New Orleans. Anyway, since I won't be that far from Nevada, I was wondering if you'd take me out to see the mine tomorrow."

Sibella, fumed, frustrated that no one seemed very interested about her horrific experience.

"I couldn't take you tomorrow," Adam said, "but Saturday I could. And if you can't wait that long, Hoss can show you or my father."

"Your father said you're the one with all the mining knowledge. I'd like to see it for myself and the assayer's report."

"All right," Adam said. "But remember, you invest at your own risk. Can't guarantee it'll produce much silver or even if we can reach where it is."

That's fair, "Archie said, smiling. "When we stop by your office tomorrow, we'll set the time to meet – that is if I can get by Miss Pear." He laughed and Adam smiled.

"Speaking of Miss Pear," Mr. Philpot said, "when we were going to breakfast this morning…"

"Breakfast?" Ben said. "The Palace Hotel has one of the best restaurants in town. Why not eat there?"

"We would have," Archie said, "but the bell boy said when I asked, that the best breakfast was to be found at _Mrs. McCaffrey's Kitchen_."

"Ah, yes. Hoss loves that place and I don't have to mortgage the Ponderosa to pay for his meal." Ben chuckled and the others lightly laughed.

"I know," Mr. Philpot said. "I had a stack of flapjacks, two thick slices of ham and two eggs for 30 cents. And the coffee was strong and hot."

Sibella wanted to bring the subject back around to Miss Pear. "You said you saw Miss Pear when you were going to breakfast?" She could see Adam turn to her but he said nothing. "You hadn't yet met her. What made her memorable?"

"Oh, she ran into us, had her head down and was in quite the hurry. Had a box with her and she dropped it so of course, Archie here, being the lady's man, had to pick it up for her. She thanked us and then hurried on. We made a little joke of it when we met her in the office."

"How early was it that you – had breakfast?" Sibella asked.

"Sibella," Adam said low enough for her to hear but not too loudly. "Enough."

But Mr. Philpot went on. "What would you say, Archie? About 7:30?"

"Sounds about right," Archie replied.

Adam spoke up, "Miss Pear runs the office for us – for me. Buys the coffee, pastries for the clients, and the paper, pencils, ink, tablets, all of it. She runs all those errands before opening the office. I'm always surprised to find out how much she's accomplished before I arrive at 9:00. Makes me feel like a sluggard."

"I was just wondering…" Sibella started, but Adam interrupted her. "I think it's time Sibella and I left." He stood up. "It's getting late."

The men stood except for the Colonel who had dozed off, his head hanging to one side, snoring softly, an empty glass in his hand. Fanny Fitzhugh looked straight at Adam.

"I hope you feel better in the morning, Adam. Perhaps we'll see you again before we leave." Fanny slyly smiled. "I can show you what I know about curing headaches."

Adam merely nodded and offered his thanks for her kindness, and shook hands with the men, telling Philpot and Hancock that he would see them in the morning to sign the contracts. Ben helped Sibella with her cape and excused himself from his guests to walk out with Adam and Sibella. Once outside, Ben helped Sibella up into the buggy while Adam went to check the traces.

"Now you give that grandson of mine a big kiss for me and bring him by this weekend. I didn't have much time with him this morning before I got the message the Fitzhughs were here."

"I will, I promise." Sibella smiled but inside she was raging. Although Fanny Fitzhugh had also given Archie Hancock an inordinate amount of attention, glancing at him and having a few private words, she hadn't touched him the way she had Adam. She also hadn't bent down in front of Archie so that he could look no where but down her cleavage. And Archie was a handsome man – very handsome. His wavy blonde hair and broad shoulders would attract any woman. But then, he was also about 20, maybe 30 years younger than Fanny. Perhaps even she had limitations about how young a man could be before she seduced him.

Ben walked around the buggy to Adam. Sibella tried to hear what they were saying but they kept their voices low. She didn't care anyway. It was probably about the silver mine so she just pulled her cape tighter about her as the night was quite chilly.

"Adam, what about the killing this morning?"

"We don't know that it was in the morning, might have been last night. The front of the shop was unlocked so I assumed it was last night. Also, since rigor had set in, Madam Adair had been dead at least 4 hours. But you and I know that rigor can take longer to set in or even less time than is usual. And she could have unlocked the door to let someone in early."

"Roy have any ideas who did it?"

"No, at least not that he's said. But Sibella has taken a personal interest in it. Roy caught her in the shop this afternoon. She took a tintype and some letters."

"What? She took evidence from the crime scene?"

Adam pursed his lips. "She did."

"What did Roy say?"

"He doesn't know yet. I'm handing everything over tomorrow. But my fear is that it may be a crime of opportunity, someone who just likes killing women and had the chance to do so. Granted, the place was ransacked but that might just be a cover-up of the true motivation – just cold-blooded murder. That's the reason I want Sibella to keep her pretty little nose out of it. But Sibella thinks that nothing bad can happen to her – ever - and that scares me. I'm going to post Chauncey at the house to keep her there."

"And Roy has no idea of who might be responsible."

"If he does, like I said, he hasn't told me. Anyway, I'm hoping he can wrap it up quickly, that someone will confess. In the meantime, I'll have to deal with Sibella's determination to solve this crime herself."

Ben cleared his throat, smiling slightly. "I think you'll have to deal with Sibella about more than that. Fanny Fitzhugh for one. Good luck, son." Ben clapped Adam on the shoulder. "Fanny is a most attractive woman, isn't she?"

"Why, Pa," Adam said grinning. "I can't believe you noticed. A guest in your house and all that."

"I'm not dead, Adam - or blind. But then I don't have to explain anything to anyone. Now, what was it that Roman gladiators said before a match?"

"Morituri te salutant. Those who are about to die, salute you."

"Good luck, son" Ben, chuckling, left Adam to face his wife.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

Adam and Sibella rode in silence for over a half-hour; they would be home in another twenty and all Adam desired was to take some laudanum and escape in sleep. Better to clear the air now than to hear about the evening from an aggrieved Sibella who would keep him from sleeping.

"Okay, Sibella, let's hear it."

She gazed out into the surrounding darkness. This was what she had been waiting for, for Adam to ask her why she was angry – as if he didn't know. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please – don't play this game with me. You're angry. Now, pour out your wounded feelings and let's get it over with."

"What wounded feelings?"

"Fine. Stay silent and pout but that won't solve anything."

Sibella turned on him like a cat, her eyes dark with anger. "Fine! You want to hear it? Here goes - you're absolutely right - I'm mad! I'm furious! How could you, Adam? How could you?"

Adam shook his head with a small laugh.

"And don't do that! Don't patronize me like you do a child! I have every reason to be upset with you. You ogled Fanny Fitzhugh! One would think you'd never seen a woman's breasts before! And she flirted with you in front of everyone and all you did was…was…nothing! You did nothing!"

"Sibella, what should I have done – in your opinion, of course? Insulted Fanny Fitzhugh in my father's home?"

"No, of course not, but you toasted her during dinner. Raised your glass to her."

"She raised her glass to me. I only gave the polite response. Would you have me ignore her – sneer at her? Embarrass everyone at the table with an act of rudeness? Behave like a cad?"

Sibella was raised and tutored with proper manners and although she rebelled in many ways from the staidness of her parents' generation, she was inherently a lady and try as she might, the manners of society were inculcated so deeply she couldn't behave otherwise.

"Well, maybe not but…" Sibella was confused. She had so carefully planned what she was going to say to Adam and then he went and turned everything around. "You looked at her bosom! When she bent down in front of you, you looked!"

Adam grinned. "Looking in the shop window doesn't mean I'm going to buy."

"Oh!" Sibella was angry and frustrated; this was not going as she had planned. "You don't take any of this seriously."

"Sibella, it's not serious. Look, Fanny flirted with me and with Archie and I'm sure she'll aim those breasts at my father tomorrow. She's quite a beautiful woman for her age but I'd say she's a pathetic, frustrated woman. Seems the Colonel has become a lush and I think she's unhappy and needs male attention, craves it."

"Oh, is that what you think?" Sibella didn't know what else to say. Her mind raced trying to think of a comment that would make Adam feel guilty. As it was, he was presenting his acts as charitable. He always did that to her, raced ahead of her and she never quite caught up with him. One day, maybe one day, she'd not only catch up with him, but overtake him.

"Yes, I do think that. She must be in her late 40's and, admittedly, she's starting to run to fat, but she's still quite an attractive woman. Some women depend on the admiration of men to feel worthwhile and she seems to be one of them."

"She's…she's…well, you may think she's attractive, but all that hair isn't hers, you know. Those thick curls hanging about her neck - a scalpette!" Sibella felt victorious, very satisfied with herself.

"A what?"

"A scalpette. A frizette. False hair."

"False hair?" Adam looked at Sibella. The wind had picked up and although Sibella wore the hood up of her cape, small wisps of hair blew around her face; she looked like a young girl.

"Yes. You attach them to your own hair with a comb and pins or they're attached by a net, and it makes a woman look as if she has a cascade of lush curls. Madame Adair tried to sell me one a few months ago, a fringe for my forehead. She wore a frizette – it covered the roots as her hair grew out - and took off her own to show me how they could be attached in only a few minutes. I almost bought one – those fringed bangs are nouveau chic – all the French women are wearing them. And something else; when I saw Fanny Fitzhugh up close, when she was toying with you, I saw she had wrinkles about her eyes. Didn't you notice?"

"I wasn't looking at her eyes." Adam smiled to himself as Sibella huffed and sputtered and looked away as they turned up the familiar drive that led to their home.

~ 0 ~

Waiting until Adam returned from the kitchen where they kept the amber, glass bottle of laudanum, Sibella made a show of tossing her things about the room, her earbobs clunked into the crystal cache bowl, her petticoat practically flying across the room. But he seemed not to notice, just disrobed and crawled between the sheets. He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the light.

Why wasn't Adam more uxorious? He took her for granted, that was why. He should be begging her forgiveness, repeating over and over that he would never look at another woman again! That was what Sibella wanted. She wanted him to beg her mercy so she could deny him, so she could keep him dangling until finally, maybe in a day or two when he pulled her to him and began the slow warming of her desires, she would give in to him. But not until she had thoroughly punished him.

Sibella sighed as she glanced at the bed. He wasn't even watching her as he usually did, waiting for her as she brushed her hair and then opening his arms to welcome her into his embrace. All those coy tricks and manipulations she had used on her past swains had never worked on Adam and what made her think they would work now? After all, what had he really done? Been polite? And when he had removed Fanny Fitzhugh's hand from his neck, he had reverted to her formal title – not "Fanny" anymore. But still.

Slipping her sleep gown over her head, Sibella slid into bed and turned her back to Adam as she reached over to snuff the lamp, darkness overtaking. Sibella lay still, listening in the darkness, Was Adam asleep yet? She felt the bed shift and one of Adam's arms slid under her waist and pulled her to him. Adam's breath warmed her neck as he kissed it.

"Goodnight, my love," Adam whispered.

What a dilemma! Sibella wanted to pull away, to ask him how he could behave that way while she was so angry! And he hadn't yet apologized! But his embrace was so warm and his arms so protective and she knew he loved her…

"Goodnight," Sibella said and turned in his embrace to lay one arm across his chest while he held her against him. She sighed. The man was infuriating! But he loved her – that she knew. And she adored him. The tension in her body dropped away and she melded into her place beside him, soon asleep.

And Mme. Adair's letters and the tintype remained in the jacket pocket – unread and forgotten.

~ 0 ~

The sun was rising and Sibella rolled over in bed, stretching her arms above her head. Suddenly she remembered the previous evening and that she was angry with Adam. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked about. Adam wasn't there and his suit was gone from the valet stand. Sibella swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slid her feet into the waiting slippers, and pulled on her wrapper, glancing at the clock. It was 7:42 and unless Adam had headed to the office early, he should still be home. She could smell hot coffee and bacon as she headed downstairs. Sibella decided she would be cold and distant to Adam. After all, she was still angry at him, granted, not as much as she had a right to be, but still angry. But that tactic had never worked with Adam. When she was cold, he behaved normally, as if he noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

Well, there was another tactic; she would turn away his romantic advances the next time he pulled her to him and lifted her gown. But that had never worked either; in the past, he had merely kissed her and then rolled over and gone to sleep. She considered she should have married a man who worshipped at her feet, who would do her bidding gladly. But no, she had to marry a hard-headed, self-contained man who saw through her efforts to manipulate him to do her bidding and thwarted them.

The two men in her life, Noah and Adam sat at breakfast, Noah in Mrs. George's lap. "Mama, Mama!" Noah grinned, waving about his spoon, oatmeal on his cheeks, his bib and the tabletop.

"Morning, Missus," Mrs. George said. "Noah seems to have more food on his face than in his stomach."

Adam, who had Mme. Adair's letters on the table top and was holding another one, stood and kissed her on the cheek and with a grin, he said in a low voice, "Still angry with me?"

"Absolutely," Sibella said, refusing to smile. She felt one large hand lightly caress her derrière and jumped a bit. "Let me take Noah," Sibella said to Mrs. George. "I'll finish feeding him. And would you bring me some coffee?"

With Noah on her lap and reaching for her coffee placed far enough away from Noah's grasp, Sibella sat in silence, watching Adam read. She couldn't bear anymore. "What do the letters say?"

"What? Oh. They're letters from her brother, at least that's my conclusion."

"Her brother?" Noah banged on the table top with his spoon and Sibella, held onto his plump arm, "Stop that, sweetheart. Here." She gently pulled the spoon from his hand and gave him a piece of cold toast which he immediately put to his mouth. "What are they about?"

"These were written during the war. His name is Declan and he closes all of them with, 'Ever your most devoted brother, Declan'. They're addressed to a Harriet and the return name on the envelope is Cpl. D. S. Griffith – not a French name by any stretch – and the recipient's name is Miss H. Griffith of Macon, Georgia – all but two and those are addressed to Miss H. Griffith of Carson City, Nevada. But the last one, it's short and desperate, telling her it will be his last letter and that by the time she receives it, he'll be dead – shot for being a traitor to the Confederacy."

"You think they're written by the young corporal in the tintype."

"Yes – to his sister, Harriet"

"Then they aren't to Madame Adair. So why would she have them?"

"Maybe they are to her, Sibella. I only spoke to Mme. Adair once – about a year ago – and she spoke with a French accent. Did she always, I mean, did she ever lapse in her accent? Was there ever a time when she spoke without one?"

"Not that I recall? What are you thinking, Adam?" Sibella was puzzled.

"Well," Adam rubbed one earlobe while he scanned the letter he held. "Maybe Mme. Adair wasn't French."

"But she was – at least she sounded French. She even spoke the language."

"Conversationally or did she just use French phrases?"

"Well…yes. I mean she would say, 'tres bien', and 'mais non', 'plus jolie', little things like that. I only know a bit of schoolgirl French so I never held a conversation with her in French, but I never doubted she was." Noah threw the gnawed toast down on the table and then fussed, arching his back to be put down. Sibella wiped his hands and his mouth while Noah protested and pulled his head away from the napkin, throwing out his arms to push her hand aside. "Have your way then," Sibella said and set Noah down. The child toddled off while she watched and then plopped down to throw about the building blocks lying on the rug, the ones Adam had kicked out of his way last night.

Adam folded the letter, placing it back in the envelope. "You said that she wore a…what was that word for artificial hair? A frizz…"

"A frizette – an artificial fringe. What of it?"

"You said it covered the roots of her hair, that she tinted her hair so I assume she wasn't naturally a brunette. What color were her roots?"

"Oh…" Sibella's face lit up. "The roots were a dark blonde – like the corporal. Oh, Adam, he must be her brother."

"Right. And Mme. Adair is Harriet Griffith. Now I have to find out why she changed her identity and if it has anything to do with her death."

Sibella eagerly leaned forward. "But it has to, Adam!"

"No, Sibella, it doesn't have to. Almost everyone has a secret to hide but it doesn't mean it leads to their death."

"I don't have any secrets to hide," Sibella said, sitting up straight. She reached for her coffee cup and politely sipped. She felt extremely superior and believed she was transparently upright.

Adam grinned. "Oh, Sibella - nothing?" and gave a low, throaty laugh that caused a thrill up her spine. She blushed deeply, suddenly filled with horror at the memory of all she had done to please her husband on so many nights and had behaved in ways no lady ever should.

"Well," Sibella said, looking into her coffee cup, "maybe a few."


	9. Chapter 9

**First, thank you for your supportive comments- this has been one busy week and limited my time for writing. I appreciate that you've stuck with this. And I am trying to move it along to the final reveal.**

 **I received a positive guest review but I delete all quest reviews. But it contained a comment I wished to address:**

 ** _Just one little thing: tintypes were black and white (sepia at best) but definitely not colored. So it would not be possible to ascertain the young man's hair color - other than dark or light._**

 **Before I wrote about "tintypes", I looked at images of tintypes and apparently, as with photographs even today, they tended to fade with exposure to sunlight. Some of the tintypes were therefore, sepia, but all were originally B &W with gradations of "color" intensity. I found that blonde hair was easily discernable as was the difference between black hair and brown hair just as it was in B&W TV shows and movies. I assume reddish hair would be a little iffy – think Lucille Ball in ****_I Love Lucy_** **. That is why I felt it would be easy for Sibella and Adam to determine the corporal was blond. I didn't mean to intimate that the tintype was a "color" photograph.**

 **IX**

Sibella sat on the porch steps consoling a sobbing Noah. They had been playing a game of catch with a small blue India rubber ball, one of Noah's favorite toys; he often toddled about the yard and the house carrying it. She had tried to get Noah to roll the ball back and forth, but he would have nothing to do with that, grasping the ball in his small hands and throwing it as best he could. It would only hit the ground a foot or so beyond him, and bounce at odd angles. Sibella would then have to fetch it and roll it back to him since he couldn't yet catch. But Noah again attempted to throw it but the ball had bounced back at him and hit his face. So Sibella was rocking him in her arms, soothing him with small kisses and gentle words. Slowly his tears were subsiding but he was rubbing his eyes which meant it was time for a nap.

"Come along, my darling. We'll clean you up and give you a bottle and you can sleep for a bit." Sibella kissed the top of his head and then caressed his black curls. She put him down which only caused him to fuss anew and cling to her skirt, but it was necessary she stand before picking him up again. The child was solid and she could no longer rise while holding him.

Once cleaned and given his bottle, it didn't take long before Noah was asleep in his mother's arms. Sibella looked down at his face, one she loved, she had to admit, even more than Adam's. Noah had the same gentle mouth as his father's and also his coloring. Sibella sighed, thinking of Fanny Fitzhugh's "pirate" comment to Adam. Unfortunately, one day Noah would be just like his father, tall, handsome, hirsute and determined in both life and love – and probably the prey of many a predatory woman. Not for long enough would Noah be this sweet child asleep in her arms, an angelic creature.

Mrs. George took Noah from Sibella's arms and once she and her charge were upstairs, Sibella walked over to the side window that faced the barn. Chauncey was still sitting in front of it, his rifle at the ready, leaning against the barn wall, whittling. Sibella never understood the purpose of whittling and had once asked Adam who said that basically, it was soothing and a way to keep one's hands busy and then employed a vulgar simile which made her blush and him laugh.

Sibella set her jaw. Adam had told her to stay home but she had other plans and was now going to set them in motion.

~ 0 ~

"But, Missus, I was told to keep you home." Chauncey hadn't thought he'd be tested; the Mister had told him to watch for strangers, tell them they were trespassing and to leave - and shoot if he had to. But the place was usually quiet and other than the upkeep and repairs the Mister himself didn't do, Chauncey was allowed to rest his old bones.

 _"_ _And keep Mrs. Cartwright here. I don't want her going to town."_

 _"_ _Want I should shoot her too?" Chauncey had asked with a grim._

 _Mr. Cartwright had laughed. "Just in the foot – so she can't walk!"_

"Keep me home? Whatever for?" Sibella asked. Since it was a cool day, more like fall than early spring, she was dressed in a brown city suit and wore an à la mode hat resembling a man's bowler trimmed with quail feathers and a yellow grosgrain ribbon. She pulled on her yellow leather gloves, her reticule dangling from her arm, heavier than usual as Sibella had tucked her derringer inside.

"I don't know, Missus, but he was sure 'bout it – wanted to make sure you didn't go to town." Chauncey leaned over and spat tobacco juice making sure it was far enough away from the "Missus''" skirt so as not to splatter it.

"Oh, that I can understand. But what if I want to go see my father-in-law? He has guests, one is a woman and I imagine she's bored; there's really not much for a woman to do out here so she would probably enjoy a cup of tea and cookies with another female, don't you think?" Sibella didn't wait for an answer. "Did Mister Cartwright say anything about keeping me from going to the Ponderosa?" Sibella tried to look innocent; it never worked with Adam but she knew it would work with Chauncey.

Chauncey scratched his head, still holding the little knife with which he had been whittling. "Well…., no…., he didn't say nothin' 'bout that. But he did say to keep you here 'cause he didn't want you goin' to town."

Sibella smiled as sweetly as she could. "Oh, good, then he wouldn't mind if I visited the Ponderosa. Now, Chauncey, please be a dear and hitch Delilah to my buggy, would you?"

Chauncey hesitated but the Missus said she was going to the Ponderosa and she sure was looking pretty, so he quickly hitched up the horse. It was only afterwards, after Mrs. Cartwright had left in her little two-wheeled buggy and he had kicked back his chair resuming his whittling, that Chauncey realized Mrs. Cartwright had never really said where she was going.

~ 0 ~

As she drove along the dirt road to town, Sibella noticed a buggy had been along the same path recently – very recently; the ruts were fresh. It could have been Hoss going to pick up a copy of the _Territorial Enterprise_ but he would probably ride his horse on such a trip. Unless he had supplies to fetch. But then he would have taken the buckboard and used two horses – there was only the indentations of one horse pulling the conveyance. Sibella smiled to herself; she was actually becoming conversant in tracking, at least in discerning fresh tracks from old tracks. She snapped the reins, imitating Adam's, "Gee-up" Delilah stepped faster and the ride became a bit rougher but Sibella wanted to see Miss Pear quickly. Hopefully, while Adam was at lunch; there were a few things she wanted to ask.

Delilah was pulled to a walk as they arrived in Virginia City. As always, Sibella's little cabriolet with it's red-trimmed wheels drew attention. No one else had such a rig. She pulled into the yard of the Barnett Livery Stable and a young man came out, grinning as he always did when he saw Mrs. Cartwright.

"Hello, Elvis," Sibella said, smiling down from her seat. "Have you room for me to park my buggy?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am." He reached up, took the reins and wound them about the brake handle and helped Sibella down.

"And would you water Delilah and give her some oats?"

"I sure will, ma'am. You just leave everything here and I'll see to your horse."

Feeling about inside the reticule for her small coin purse, Sibella unclicked the kiss-lock it and pulled out two-bits, handing them to Elvis. "Thank you so much, Elvis. I shouldn't be more than an hour – maybe a bit longer." And giving Elvis one of her sweetest smiles, Sibella held up her skirts and stepped gingerly across the yard, carefully avoiding the horse droppings, and headed to Adam's office.

Sibella was across from the Palace Hotel when she saw, without a doubt. Fanny Fitzhugh striding down the wooden sidewalk; she seemed not to notice the men tipping their hats nor their glances of admiration, but just walked looking straight ahead. She was dressed sedately in a dark blue dress, although the basque was a bit too long for her wide hips. And Fanny wore a huge hat that had a life-sized dove on it, its wings outspread as if it desperately wanted to remove itself from the gaudy headpiece. Fanny paused outside the entrance of the hotel and then, gathering herself, she went inside.

What will Adam think about this? Sibella considered. Fanny Fitzhugh visiting the hotel where Mr. Philpot and Archie Hancock were staying. And, the two men had separate rooms. That they all knew as at dinner the night before, Mr. Philpot had made a joke that if he were married, his wife would probably demand separate bedrooms because he snored so badly – and Ben's excellent brandy would only cause him to rattle the window panes with his rumblings. Therefore, he and Archie Hancock had separate rooms at the hotel against normal company policy.

Waiting another minute or so, Sibella held up her skirts to cross the street, and entered the hotel.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cartwright," the desk clerk said. "What can I do for you?"

"Is it afternoon already?" Sibella asked. She had no idea what the desk clerk's name was but was flattered he knew who she was.

"Yes, ma'am – 20 past noon. Now what can I do for you?"

"Well, some railroad men are staying here…"

"Mr. Philpot and Mr. Hancock."

"Yes! Exactly! You certainly do know your guests. My father-in-law had them over for dinner last night and since they're leaving soon, I thought it would be nice if my husband and I had them over tonight. I mean they are doing business with the Ponderosa and you know what it's like; one must fȇte clients and make them feel special." The desk clerk nodded. "Can you tell me which rooms Mr. Philpot and Mr. Hancock are occupying?"

"Well, Mr. Philpot and Mr. Hancock left about 7:30 for breakfast. I can't understand why they don't eat here. Anyway, they returned, oh, must be 'most an hour ago but Mr. Philpot went back out." The desk clerk leaned in slightly and said in a lowered voice, "And a woman came in for Mr. Hancock. Didn't even ask which room – like she already knew the number. Told me not to disturb them and then she sashayed up the stairs."

"Oh, really." Sibella wanted to seem none too interested but she had to know. She leaned toward the clerk conspiratorially. "Was she wearing a large hat with a bird on it?"

"She sure was," the clerk said. "I couldn't help think but that she was lucky some hawk didn't swoop down from the sky and snatch that hat right off her head!" And Sibella couldn't help but giggle.


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

No one was in the anteroom but Miss Pear's jacket and usual straw bonnet decorated with a bunch of faded silk violets, hung on the rack by the door. Sibella looked about, heard some noise from Adam's office, but before she took more than three steps, Miss Pear appeared in the doorway and jumped, putting her hand to her breast.

"Oh. Mrs. Cartwright, you scared me. I didn't hear the door open."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to sneak in. Is Mr. Cartwright in?" Sibella craned her neck to see inside Adam's office door and tried not to sound suspicious, but just what was Miss Pear doing sneaking about in his office? If sneaking, she was.

Miss Pear pulled the door shut. "No. He said he had business to attend to and didn't know what time he'd be back. I was putting some letters on his desk to be signed. Is there something I can help you with?" Miss Pear stood politely, her elbows bent, her hands clasped at waist-level.

"No, no. I think I'll just wait." Sibella smiled.

"Suit yourself then. I have work to do." And Miss Pear sat at her small desk, first shuffling papers and arranging them in a particular order. Then, inserting paper, both plain and carbonated, she began to type, glancing down at the notes she had obviously taken earlier.

Sibella walked about the room, looking at the framed tintypes of the Ponderosa, its herds of cattle, stands of trees, and then of trains, even of a train crossing a canyon on a trestle built from Ponderosa pine and by Ponderosa crews. The wood frames had engraved small brass plates with the date and subject matter. Some photographs had been taken before the war and some more recently and all were elegantly framed under glass.

Sibella hoped Adam would return soon. Her gossip about Archie Hancock and Fanny Fitzhugh was bubbling at her lips – she wanted to tell Adam as soon as possible that Fanny had shifted her seductive aims totally to young Archie. She sighed and looked at the Regulator, the same type of clock that had been in her schoolgirl classrooms. That was Adam – function over fancy looks. Sibella turned her attention to Miss Pear who was wearing her hair in a new style.

"I've always wanted to learn how to type," Sibella said pleasantly, walking to the side of Miss Pear; the better to look at Miss Pear's new fringe of bangs and the wide velvet ribbon tied about her head over where the part would be. To her knowledge, Miss Pear, at least every time she had seen the woman before, wore her hair severely pulled back in a chignon. Now, she had a charming fringe of bangs that was most flattering, softening up her features and making her look at least five years younger. And perhaps a touch of rouge on her lips and cheeks. Miss Pear wasn't yet old, per se, but she was, as Sibella knew, a "spinster". And as much as Sibella detested that image, since she herself had been intentionally close to becoming one herself until Adam stole her heart by an indirect route, most women only wanted a husband, home and children. And in a manner, Sibella envied Miss Pear. After all, Miss Pear had a good job and earned her way in the world, something Sibella had desired to do before she met Adam. But he had tapped into the hunger and desire she hadn't even know had been stirring within her. Did he have the same effect on Miss Pear? And for once, Sibella looked at Miss Pear as a possible seductress. What was it like working so close to Adam? When he was near Miss Pear, when she smelled his singular scent, heard his voice, did it make her heat-up? Did Miss Pear want Adam as Sibella had? Would she abandon all reserve as Sibella had done and throw herself at Adam's head – or lower?

After all, Miss Pear was with Adam more hours each day than she herself was – unless one counted sleeping. Sibella suddenly wished she had bought a frizette from Mme. Adair when she had the chance. Maybe she could find one in Carson City; a mail order hair piece was so difficult to match.

"Is typing hard to learn?" Sibella asked.

Miss Pear, without pausing in her task, said, "No, but it takes practice, a lot of practice. And concentration."

Sibella knew the comment was meant for her to be quiet, but… "Were Mr. Philpot and Mr. Hancock in yet?"

"Yes."

"At what time?"

This time, Miss Pear did stop typing, taking her eyes away from her task, and looked at Sibella, her mouth tight. This silly woman in her fashionable dress shared a bed with Adam Cartwright every night, Miss Pear considered. And what was even worse was what they probably did together in that bed and the image of them coupling, tussling in the sheets, burned in her brain. So, with a sharpness of tone that Miss Pear only used with barking dogs and misbehaving children, she said, "At 8:30. Mr. Cartwright came in early to meet them and they signed the needed papers, had a glass of whiskey and cigars – well, Mr. Philpot and Mr. Hancock did."

"Yes, I can smell cigar smoke," Sibella remarked. She remembered how her father was forced to step outside to smoke his Figurado cigars, due to his wife's edict that cigar smoke stank up the drapes and upholstery. Mr. Atherton had shared the fine cigars with Adam who from then on, ordered Figurados straight from Cuba, not only for himself and his father, but to share with clients upon closing a deal.

"Now if you wouldn't mind, Mrs. Cartwright, I _am_ busy."

"Of course. So sorry. But one more question." Miss Pear paused, waiting. "Mr. Cartwright didn't say where he was going or when he would be back, did he?"

"No to both questions." And the clicking of the typewriter keys began again.

~ 0 ~

"Sibella, I swear - if were we home, I'd take you over my knee right now." Adam was so angry his color rose.

"Perhaps tonight," Sibella said coyly, trying to bring that devilish smile to his face. But he would have none of it

Adam shook a finger at her. "I told you to stay home! Why didn't you?"

"If you wanted to tell me what to do, you should have adopted me instead of marrying me."

A sound of frustration, similar to a bellow, came from Adam. Sibella jumped. "That's it! I'm going to park your sweet ass and Noah on the Ponderosa until this murder is solved, and as for Chauncey…"

"Don't be angry at Chauncey. I gave him the impression I was going to the Ponderosa."

"You what?"

"I implied that I was going to visit your father and his company. Don't be angry with him just because he believed me." Sibella looked down at her gloves, paying particular attention to the seaming and the small pearl buttons at the wrist."

"Oh, that's right; he's not familiar with your creative way of twisting words. Fine. I'll take my full fury out on you!" Adam grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the door. The sound of the typewriter started again. Sibella noticed; obviously Miss Pear had been listening.

"Wait," Sibella said. "I have something interesting to tell you, Adam. Really." Sibella looked up at Adam, at his dark eyes and the mouth that was far too tender and lush for a man. "Do you want to hear? And let me say, I haven't been anywhere near the milliner's shop just as you said, although…" She dropped her voice. "…I think Miss Pear has. Yesterday morning."

"What? Are you accusing Miss Pear…"

Sibella put a finger to his mouth and moved away from the door. "Shhhh! Didn't you notice Miss Pear's hairstyle today?"

"No. Why would I notice her hair?"

"Because I think she fixed it with you in mind."

"What are you talking about?" Adam was confused. Women and the things they thought important!

"Miss Pear is wearing a frizette." Sibella stepped back with satisfaction, watching Adam as he considered the information.

"And? You said you had considered buying one. That doesn't mean anything." Adam couldn't conceive how Miss Pear could be involved in Mme. Adair's murder - but she was wearing a new frizette. "How much are they-one of these frizettes?"

"Up to $15.00. It all depends on the quality of the hair and how well it is made. Do you pay Miss Pear enough that she could splurge on such an item?" Sibella cocked her head, waiting.

"She's paid $40.00 a month and I'm considering giving her a raise. Things are costing more now than just last month. What are you suggesting, Sibella?"

"Remember? Mr. Philpot and Archie said they saw her rushing about, upset - oh, and I have something to tell you about Archie and Fanny Fitzhugh. I was coming here and saw…"

"Sibella, Sibella – one thing at a time. Now, Mr. Philpot and Archie Hancock saw Miss Pear yesterday morning. Of what significance is that?"

"She had a box, dropped it, and was all upset. Remember what they said? And it was early."

"And that is proof of what? That Miss Pear stole the frizette from…" Adam stopped, his brows furrowed. "Sibella, I can't ask her about her hair, if it's a false hair piece she stole from a dead woman's shop."

"Maybe she killed Mme. Adair."

"For a hair piece? Please, Sibella. And Miss Pear isn't a killer."

"How do you know? Maybe she killed for…"

"For what?"

Sibella was going to say, "for love of you," but stopped herself. The idea that any woman would think she could turn Adam's head with a strip of false curls, Adam would find laughable.

"Maybe we should tell Sheriff Coffee," Sibella said.

Adam sat on the corner of his desk, his arms crossed. "I've already been to Roy this morning. We sent a wire to the records department in Washington that catalogued Confederate fatalities and asked about Corporal Declan Griffith. Then I sent an invitation to both Mr. Philpot and Archie Hancock for dinner Sunday night at the Ponderosa."

"Why? What have they to do with anything?"

"I don't know that they do but it just seems too much of a coincidence that they're all here. Something's itching at me and I can't rest until I've put everything in order." He sighed. "Now I suppose, just to put my mind and yours to rest, that I'll compliment Miss Pear on her hair and see what happens. On your way out, tell Miss Pear I need to see her."

"On my way out? But I want to be here when you ask her?"

"No, Sibella. You wait in the outer office. Now go ask her to come in."

~ 0 ~

A sobbing woman always made Roy Coffee feel helpless. "Can I get you a glass of water?" he asked Miss Pear. She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief Mr. Cartwright had handed her, but her head remained bowed. Adam stood beside her chair, his arms crossed high on his chest.

Sibella stood quietly by the doorway, feeling guilty – for what she wasn't quite sure but now she wished she had never brought up the whole matter. But deep down, Sibella knew she had brought up the hair piece because she feared that Adam might eventually be won over by the compliant, obliging and ever-ready-to-serve, Miss Pear. Sibella told herself that from now on, she would be a better wife to Adam, a more obedient and submissive wife – well, as soon as the murderer was found out.

"Let me go over this one more time," Roy said in a gentle voice. "You went by Mme. Adair's shop to pick up this…frizzy…"

"Frizette," Adam said. Roy looked at him puzzled as to why Adam was so familiar with the name, but Adam only shrugged his shoulders.

"You went to pick it up, the frizette. Mme. Adair was expecting you and since you were opening Mr. Cartwright's office early, she said she'd open the shop early and for you to go to the back door, that it would be unlocked. Is that right?"

"Yes," Miss Pear said.

"Well, that explains why the back door wasn't jimmied. Go on, Miss Pear."

"Mme. Adair was going to show me again how to attach the fringe – I had already paid for it - 12 dollars - so when I went in and…and…she was – well, she was already dead. I saw the frizette and I just put it in a box and left but I didn't kill her! I'm telling you, she was dead already!"

Roy, ran a hand over his face. "Miss Pear, why didn't you come tell me?"

Miss Pear looked up at Adam and then down at the handkerchief that she has wrung into a length of fabric. "I was afraid you would think I killed her and then you'd arrest me and I'd miss work and Mr. Cartwright would have no one to help him and I'd be fired…" She broke into sobs again, hiding her face in her hands.

Adam put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Miss Pear. It's all right." He looked at Roy. "Well, can she go? I think she's told you everything she knows."

Sniffling, Miss Pear looked up piteously at Roy.

"Well…I tell you what, Miss Pear. You go straight home and stay there. Don't go anywhere today or the whole weekend. Actually, not until I tell you you can. Understand? I have to do some investigating of all you said."

"But I have work to do back at the office!" She looked up at Adam. "There are letters on your desk for you to sign and I was going to post them on my way home. And the philodendron, well, it's becoming too long, vining too much and I was going to trim it back."

"It's all right, Miss Pear. I'll close the office for the rest of the day and I have no need of you Saturday morning – I have other matters to take care of anyway. As for Monday, well, we'll deal with that when it's Monday."

Miss Pear smiled. "Thank you, thank you both, sirs, especially you, Mr. Cartwright." Miss Pear stood and looked at the crumpled cloth in her hand. "I'll wash and iron your handkerchief."

"It's not necessary, really." Adam smiled benevolently.

"No. I will." And with a small smile to Roy Coffee and one last glance at Adam, Miss Pear placed her straw bonnet on her head and left the sheriff's office.

"Well," Roy said, "that was interesting. Seems I'll walk over to the Palace Hotel and have a little talk with Mr. Philpot and Mr. Hancock. Hear what they have to say about the matter, if their version matches Miss Pear's. Then I'll swing by the telegrapher's and see if there's a reply to our wire."

"Oh, Sheriff Coffee, stop by Mr. Hancock's room first," Sibella said, smiling.

"Why?" Roy asked.

"Mr. Philpot may still be out. At least he was out a bit over an hour ago. He's the type to take long lunches. But Mr. Hancock was in."

"Thank you for the information, ma'am," Roy said. "I guess I'll be on my way there." And Roy tipped his hat. "You going back to the office?" Roy asked Adam as the three headed for the door.

"Just to lock up. I'm taking Sibella home and tomorrow morning, I'm going to Carson City; I have some business there. Sibella, let's go, dear." And Adam smiled as he extended his right arm indicating she go first. And as she passed, Adam whispered, "You have a lot to explain, my sweet. Especially why you went to see Archie Hancock."


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you to all of you who are reading and letting me know you like it. I do apologize about the slow-going. Should pick up a bit after this chapter - I man it is part-love story. One other thing, the term "playpen" was first used in print in 1902 - at least that was the earliest I could find it although similar items were used before then. I, therefore, used the term "pen" instead of "playpen".**

 **XI**

"I told you, Adam, I wasn't going to see Archie. I just wanted to find out what Fanny Fitzhugh was doing at the hotel."

"You had no business following Mrs. Fitzhugh – what she does is between her and her husband."

"And apparently, Archie Hancock. Don't you find it interesting though? I mean she's rather brazen, going to a man's room – and in the middle of the day, no less."

Sibella had duly defended herself but Adam had gone on and on about her becoming involved in a murder case that could possibly put her own life at risk? She wasn't some child and this wasn't some game – she should be more responsible. But what about Miss Pear? Sibella had pointed out – literally pointing one small finger at Adam. It was due to her noticing the new hairstyle that they had discovered Miss Pear had seen he body a few hours before she had. So, Sibella had said with great satisfaction, she was useful, after all.

Adam acknowledged that neither he nor Roy would have known about what Miss Pear had seen or when if Sibella hadn't raised a red flag. Nevertheless, he emphasized, had told her to stay home and not only had she lied in order to go to town, but she had done exactly what he had told her not to.

"I didn't lie! I just let Chauncey think what he wanted."

"You led him to that conclusion, Sibella. You intentionally deceived him. It's as bad as a lie of omission."

"Oh, you and your honesty!" Sibella said. "And you can't tell me you've never lied."

Adam drove along in silence. Then he spoke. "No, I have lied but it's never been for a reason such as getting my own way." He turned his face to her and Sibella thought she saw actual pain in his eyes. "I want you to stay at the house because I truly am afraid for you."

"Oh, Adam. I know that. You've said that, but, my darling, I can take care of myself! Honestly." When Adam turned his eyes back to the road, Sibella subtly opened her reticule and slid her hand inside, grasping the derringer, her finger on the trigger. "Adam."

At his name, Adam turned to look at Sibella as she pulled out the derringer, pointing it at him.

"You see, I can take care of myself." Sibella smiled, feeling she had one-upped Adam. But before she even knew what happened, Adam had grabbed the gun from her, causing her wrist to slightly twist, and hurled the gun into the surrounding trees. The he pulled up Delilah, and the buggy stopped as did his horse tied onto the back. Adam turned to her, his chest heaving.

"You little fool! Do you really think you could stop a man set on harming you? No, Sibella. If I wanted to do you harm, molest you and slit your throat, you wouldn't be able to stop me. Can't you see that?"

Adam snapped the reins and Sibella sat back, shaking. She had never seen Adam in such a state. His breath was shaky and Sibella watched as he tried to calm himself. She looked down at her hand, the one that had so recently held the small derringer and up until that point, Sibella realized she hadn't proper respect for the true power of a determined man, whether it be to ravish her against her will - or throttle her. And although she knew she only came up to Adam's shoulder, only now did she comprehend how large and powerful he really was, how all those nights when she lay under him, she had in actuality, been at his mercy. Instead of running his lips over her neck and thrilling her with his hands, he could have, were he a different type of man, forced her to her marital obligation, causing her to cry out in pain and fear instead of ecstatic delight.

~ 0 ~

 _The Territorial Enterprise_ was on the sofa. Mrs. George said the Ben Cartwright had brought it over in case Adam hadn't yet read it. Sibella remembered seeing a copy, still folded on Adam's desk as if he hadn't yet read it. But he obviously had because he snatched up the paper and turned to her, snapping it open so she could see the headline: _Lady-Killer on the Loose._

"Did you see this?" Adam asked, his mouth tight.

"No," Sibella quietly replied.

"Well, perhaps you should read it." He dropped the paper on the sofa and went into the room that served as a den and office.

"Oh, Missus, I read it," Mrs. George said. She had been hovering at the edge of the portieres separating the dining room from the parlor. "I'm truly afraid and how horrible for you! Oh, Missus, what if the killer comes after you?"

"Now, Mrs. George," Sibella said, trying to sound nonchalant, "don't be silly. I'll be fine and so will you." Sibella pulled off her gloves and then reached up to take off her hat and holding it, thought back to Mme. Adair and how she had looked, pale and cold on the floor of her shop. Dead. Murdered. "Would you be a dear and make me some tea? And where is Noah?"

"I'll get him ma'am. He's playing in the kitchen in his pen. That way he's out from underfoot while I cook. I'll bring the tea shortly."

Sibella, still off-kilter about what had happened on the ride home, tried to appear normal in front of Mrs. George who laid the tea service, but as Sibella sat and read the article about the Virginia City Lady-Killer, her heart thudded.

 _Yesterday morning dawned with new hope for the denizens of our fair hamlet except for the owner of the Parisian Style, Madame Monique Adair; she was dead, cold dead, stabbed cruelly through her heart with a brass, pearl-topped hat pin from her own shop._

 _The small shop, popular with the women of style for its fashionable hats in the latest styles and its choice of hair pieces with which our women manage to make themselves even more lovely, was ransacked. According to Sheriff Coffee who was reluctant to be interviewed, the killer was obviously looking for something with which to enrich himself after cruelly dispatching the female proprietor._

 _This reporter was informed that the body was discovered by Mrs. Adam Cartwright who may herself be in danger, more so than the ordinary citizen. Sheriff Coffee has eliminated Mrs. Cartwright as a suspect which is to be expected as the Cartwrights are a long-respected family known for their beneficence and contributions toward Virginia City's eminence._

 _Since the killer is still on the loose, it is suggested that all women stay locked in their homes at night and under the protection of their husbands and fathers until this horrendous murder is solved and the perpetrator tried and hanged._

Sibella put the newspaper down and one hand flew to her mouth. Her name was in the newspaper and if the murderer hadn't known who had reported discovering the body, he did now. Sibella sat, thinking over her situation. Then, she went out to apologize to Chauncey for going to town instead of the Ponderosa. Sibella asked for his forgiveness, hoped he wasn't angry with her, and Chauncey, flustered by Mrs. Cartwright's sincere apology, stammered and said he wasn't mad at her at all. No, ma'am, not one bit.

Sibella decided she need perspective, needed to be out of the house, so she took Noah outside; Adam had yet to emerge from the room she teasingly called, his "sanctum". So, while Noah played in the grass in the front yard, chasing the chickens about and squealing with delight when he managed to grasp a few tail feathers, Sibella worked on her needlepoint, the embroidery hoop held with one small hand while she worked the needle back and forth. But Sibella was in turmoil. How could she placate Adam when he was so angry with her? And she tried to turn things about so that she could be righteously angry with him. But she could think of nothing except that she wanted him to kiss her, to put his arms about her and say he loved her.

Sibella jabbed the needle in and through the fabric and laid the hoop in her lap. When Adam had first shown her their house two years earlier, Sibella said she wanted a garden and Adam set about to give her one. Of course, out here in the wilderness, she couldn't hope for the well-manicured, elegant gardens of her parents' home and the other homes in Sacramento City but Adam did what he could. Pine rail fencing indicated the perimeter and kept any grazing animals out but the double gate had no lock; Adam had said a lock would be useless as any interloper could just climb over so they were left open during the day. But Adam had planted vining roses which clung to the fencing, covering it during the summer with fragrant blooms. Morning glories wound themselves about the porch railing and large cedar buckets on the porch held geraniums which, when blooming, were a burst of red. And during the days of late spring and the evenings of the long days of summer, she and Adam played with Noah on the cool grass. And once, one clear summer evening when Mrs. George was visiting her sister for a week and they had returned from taking Noah to his grandfather's for the weekend, she had pulled Adam down onto the grass and they had made love, "like pagans" she had said. He had laughed in the low, throaty manner he himself owned and with eagerness, taken her. As she had looked over his shoulder, the moon watched and she had the fleeting idea that the whole world had been created just for the two of them.

Sibella watched Noah, running about and her heart swelled with love. Did Adam feel that way when he looked at his son? Did he feel that way when he looked at her, as if his heart only beat because of her? Love was such a confusing emotion. And Sibella realized she had just accepted Adam's love as if it was her due; she had never had to do one single thing to earn it. Fear gripped her like an icy hand – could she lose Adam's love as easily as she had won it?

~ 0 ~

Dinner was a quiet affair as far as Sibella was concerned. Adam sat with Noah on his lap and fed the child off his own plate - mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, green beans which the child pulled out of his mouth, grimacing, making his father laugh. Noah stuck his fingers in the mashed potatoes and held them up toward Adam who ate the potatoes off the small fingers of his son who chortled, delighted, and pulled his hand away when Adam made sounds of gobbling. When Mrs. George came to take Noah for his bath, Adam insisted he wanted to do it and scooped his son up in his arms while Noah called, "Up, Papa, up high!" Adam lifted his son over his head and then swung him down again safely into his arms.

"Can I get you any coffee?" Mrs. George asked as she started to clear the table.

"No. None for me. Here," Sibella said, rising from the table, "let me help you clear the table."

"That's all right." Mrs. George didn't need the help as she had already scrubbed the pots and pans and with fresh water in the sink, only the everyday dishes needed washing.

"Really, I want to." Sibella carried dishes into the kitchen and scrapped off the waste into a pan. "I'll dry," Sibella said and took up a dishtowel. The two women worked in silence initially. Then Sibella spoke. "When you were married, were you happy?"

Mrs. George glanced at the Missus who seemed to be worried, her brow furrowed.

"Most of the time. I never really thought much about being happy. I think too much importance is put on being happy. I was content."

"Did you ever do anything foolish, anything you were sorry for and didn't know how to make it right?"

Mrs. George chuckled. "That's just being human, doin' things you regret. Now, Missus, the Mister loves you. I think you'd have to go great lengths to do something he'd never forgive. Is this about going into Virginia City today?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have gone. And I was deceitful and prompted by irrational jealousy and…" Sibella swallowed her tears.

Mrs. George put a sudsy hand on Sibella's arm. "Well, for heaven's sake then! Stop drying the dishes, dry your eyes, and go tell the man you're sorry and that you love him. I guarantee he'll forgive you – and gladly."

Sibella smiled and put the towel on the counter. "Yes. Thank you, Mrs. George." And she set off up the stairs. Sibella found Adam in the hall, leaving Noah's room.

"Adam," she said, her voice quavering.

"Don't. Oh, Sibella, can you ever forgive me for the way I behaved, for what I did?"


	12. Chapter 12

**XII**

"Wake up, sleepyhead, if you still want to go to Carson City with me."

Sibella rolled over on her stomach to avoid the cutting sunlight as Adam had raised the shade. "What time is it?"

"A little after 7:00. If you're not ready to go by 8:00, I'm leaving without you."

Sibella felt Adam push aside her hair and kiss the back of her neck. She smiled and then jumped at a smack on her derriere. Adam chuckled and walked out, closing the door. She stretched and smiled to herself and then covered her face, embarrassed when she remembered last night and her abandon. She had attempted to apologize to Adam for behaving so badly, so arrogantly, but he had instead, in the darkened hallway, kissed her neck, her face, her eyes and lifted her in his arms only to place her on their bed. Yes, she was forgiven, and in the dark, after their hungers had been sated, Sibella lay in Adam's arms and he told her how he loved her while lightly stroking her hair, lifting up her hand which had held the derringer and kissed it.

Before they drifted off into sleep. Sibella asked, "May I go with you to Carson City tomorrow?"

And Adam had acquiesced, saying that at least he would know where she was if she went with him. So, stretching once more, Sibella, rose to wash and dress and ready herself for the trip to Carson City. Adam had yet to tell her why he was going and her curiosity was piqued.

~ 0 ~

Roy Coffee sat with Adam at the breakfast table, drinking coffee and helping himself to toast and grape jam while Adam read the telegram. When he caught sight of Sibella, Roy stood.

"Mornin', Ma'am." He smiled. "You're looking mighty lovely."

"Why thank you, Sheriff. Please sit back down and enjoy your coffee; it's only one of the many things Mrs. George makes better than anyone else. Since she's a widow, we're the only ones to taste her cooking. Since you're a widower, I suppose you eat out a lot - why we must have you over soon and I'll ask Mrs. George to make her best meal – roast beef with onions, carrots and new potatoes. Isn't that a good idea, Adam?"

"Sibella." Adam sighed. "Please…"

"Why, that'd be nice, ma'am," Roy said, smiling.

Sibella smiled back and then gave Adam a triumphant look. She stood behind Adam, looking over his shoulder, holding her hat and gloves with the same hand. She had decided to wear a simple two-piece dress of light blue summer-weight wool and a grey shawl for the early morning chill. Her choice of hat was a simple straw boater with a dark blue ribbon and a silver, enameled hatpin the only embellishments.

"Adam, is that the telegram from Washington?"

"Yes, it is. If you don't mind…" Adam looked up at her leaning over his shoulder and Roy Coffee pursed his lips to keep from smiling; what a dance she must lead him.

"Oh, sorry, dear." Sibella, running her hand lightly along Adam's shoulders, went to her usual chair and poured herself some coffee. She picked a piece of toast off the platter and proceeded to butter it although she wasn't really hungry, but she broke off a piece and ate it, deciding to sit and listen; she'd find out soon enough about the wire.

"So, according to this," Adam said, holding the tan paper "Griffith was hanged as a traitor by the Confederacy for supplying false intelligence."

"That's what it says. I don't see any connection though between Madam Adair's death – or Miss Griffith, if that's who she was – and this corporal. I mean, Adam," Roy said, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the tablecloth, "maybe, Madam Adair and this young Corporal were engaged or something like that but I don't see why she'd be killed over it. And even if they were brother and sister like you think, it doesn't mean anything."

"But it very well might. Look, Madam Adair or whoever she was, had blonde hair and dyed it almost black. There's a reason she changed her identity. I doubt she was French and if she is Harriet Griffith – and I see no other reason why she would have those letters if she wasn't – then there's a reason she would go through all that trouble to hide her identity."

"Maybe she thought a French woman would do better running a hat shop than an American one; you know how women are when it comes to fashion and all that."

Sibella raised her chin. "No. How are we?"

"Sibella," Adam said. "Just…" He turned back to Roy. "Anyway, I'm heading over to Carson City to do some digging around. Miss Harriet Griffith lived in Carson City and maybe someone will remember her, maybe even Declan Griffith. She hasn't yet been buried, has she?"

Roy finished off his coffee. "No, not yet. Still over at the undertakers. The bank hasn't released her funds yet but if they don't by Monday, well…"

"If the funds aren't released, I'll pay for the burial," Adam said.

"You'll be reimbursed," Roy said, standing and picking up his hat that he had sat beside his coffee cup.

"I'm not worried about it," Adam said, but his voice trailed off as he stared at Roy's hat.

"What is it?" Roy said, looking at his hat.

Looking at Sibella, Adam asked, "Do you have a hat pin?"

"Well, yes." She picked up her hat and pulled out the hat pin. It was a favorite of hers, a 16th birthday gift from her favorite aunt, a long silver pin with an enameled pansy on the end. Adam took it from her and looked at it closely, then held it.

"Let me ask you something, Roy. Suppose you were set on murdering a woman."

Sibella gasped. "Adam! How can you…"

"It's just hypothetical, Sibella." He turned back to Roy. "You, a man, want to kill a woman. Would you pick up a hat pin and stab her?"

"Well, no. If I wanted to kill a woman, I suppose I'd strangle her or…now that you mention it, I've seen a few stabbings but that's usually a woman, a wife, killing her husband. Men use their hands on a weaker person."

"Exactly. A man wouldn't use a hat pin. A woman would, and a woman is most familiar with hat pins."

"You, know," Roy said, "I think I'll go pay a little visit to Miss Pear again. Have a little talk about hat pins."

Sibella spoke up. "Why? Do you think she stabbed Mme. Adair? Do you think they were both in love with Corporal Griffith?"

Adam shook his head. "Sibella, stop this wild hypothesizing. We'll find out in due time if there's a connection. Let me know if you find out anything, Roy, but I don't think you will."

"Now, Adam, about Carson City and you asking about – I'd rather you not. I mean don't go off half-cocked, causing trouble..." Adam raised his brows. "I'm sorry, Adam. I still think of you as that 16-year-old running with Carl Reagan and them Bonners, causin' mischief all over the countryside. It's hard for me to remember you're a grown man, already been in the army and now a husband and father. You'll always be that young, wet-behind-the ears Cartwright boy to me – Ben's oldest boy."

Adam chuckled. "I know, Roy, I know."

"But.." Roy scratched his head. "This investigatin', that's business for the law to handle, not an ordinary citizen. I can send Clem to ask about Miss Harriet Griffith."

"Roy, I want to do this on my own; we have a personal interest in this case."

Roy Coffee sighed. "Okay Adam…okay. But let me just - raise your right hand and I'll deputize you."

Sibella, watched as Roy Coffee swore in Adam. That was another thing she would have to work on – female law officers.

~ 0 ~

Sibella didn't care for the buckboard; she was jostled too much and often had to grab the sidebar to stay upright. Besides, they had a perfectly good, comfortable, four-seater buggy. And the buckboard, besides having a hard seat, made so much noise with its creaks and thumps that a conversation was almost impossible. But Adam had insisted they take the buckboard; he was going to buy feed, he said.

The capitol of Nevada, once it became a state, was Carson City and it was booming far more than Virginia City. Its sidewalks were full of people going about their business, and ditches were being dug to place gas lines for lighting; street lights were being planned and construction was everywhere. But Adam visited Carson City at least once a month for business purposes and was never surprised to see a new building or a refreshed façade. He parked the buckboard in the alley beside the sheriff's office.

~ 0 ~

"Can I help you?" A man rose from behind a desk, standing with his hand on his hips. He wore a sheriff's badge but instead of looking at Adam, he looked at Sibella. "Mornin', ma'am."

"Good morning," Sibella said, giving her most charming smile.

Then he looked at Adam, first frowning and then his expression showed recognition. "Wait a minute," he pointed a finger at Adam. "I've seen you before in town…Cartwright."

"Yes. Adam Cartwright. And you're…" Adam put out his hand as the sheriff came about the desk and they shook hands. Adam knew that "old man Hayward", as he had been referred to during his tenure, had been replaced a few years ago by a new man but up to now, Adam had never needed this sheriff's assistance.

"Sheriff Harve Meiklejohn. What can I do for you, Mr. Cartwright?"

"I need some information that might be pertinent to a death in Virginia City."

"Oh? I'd think Roy Coffee'd be here asking questions about something like that, not a rich rancher like you. Wait…is this about that woman who was stabbed in a hat shop? Read the _Territorial Enterprise_ story about it."

"It might be related to that. And as for the law, I've been deputized to investigate."

Sheriff Meiklejohn, to Adam's annoyance, reached out and pushed aside the lapels, one at a time, of his suede trail coat. Adam refrained from knocking away the intrusive hand. "I don't see no badge."

Sibella stepped forward. "I saw Sheriff Coffee deputize him this morning – swore him in." The idea that anyone would question Adam infuriated her. "You shouldn't doubt his word."

"Sibella, I can manage." Adam turned back to a smirking sheriff.

"Well, if the lady says you're a deputy, then I won't question her word. Now, what is it you and the lady want to know? Or is she a deputy as well?"

Adam cleared his throat and glanced at Sibella, meaning for her to be quiet.

"No, she's not a deputy. Now, if you'd just answer this - do you remember a woman by the name of Harriet Griffith? She lived – at least she had her mail delivered here in Carson City – during the war."

"Sorry – can't help you. I was in Montana territory during the war. Got tired of freezing my ass…" Meiklejohn cleared his throat and apologized to Sibella for his language. "I can't tell you nothing about who lived here then. You might ask Zack Hayward. He was sheriff then. Lives right at the west edge of town. Go straight out - little blue house with yellow shutters, him and his housekeeper. Leastways that's all she claims to be." He smiled knowingly.

"I guess I'll go talk to Hayward then. Sheriff." Adam touched his hat brim and took Sibella by the arm, escorting her out the door.

"What a horrid man!" Sibella said as she and Adam walked down the street toward the east end. "Doubting your word! I can't believe that…"

"Sibella, I brought you with me to keep you out of trouble back home; don't cause me any here. Just be quiet when I talk with Mr. Hayward."

"But, Adam!"

"Sibella, believe me when I say I don't need you to defend me like I'm some drunk you have to make excuses for."

"Adam, I never meant anything like that. I just…" She pointed ahead. "That must be the house."

A small house stood a short distance out of town. It was blue with yellow shutters but the paint was flaking off and a sapling grew so close to the house, it practically hugged it. One front shutter was hanging off, the top hinge broken, and the walkway had almost disappeared under a mat of unruly weeds competing with one another for the sun.


	13. Chapter 13

**I did quite a bit of research on Nevada during the Civil War and also about Fort Churchill. I tried to be as historically accurate as I could.**

 **XIII**

"Oh, Adam, this is place is just awful! I hate to think a retired sheriff lives in such a decrepit hovel." Sibella had taken Adam's arm, clinging to it, while he led her down the walk and up the three steps to the front door.

"Sheriffs don't make much despite being asked to risk their lives. Don't be a snob." Adam knocked heavily on the door.

"I'm not a snob, Mr. Egalitarian, but I've never been inside such a place. What if there are rats? What are you going to do if…"

Sibella couldn't finish as the door opened and a man of about 50 years, leaning on a cane, stood facing them. A .45 was tucked in his belt and his expression wasn't inviting.

"Yes? Can I help you with something?"

Adam took off his hat; it seemed the respectful thing to do. "My name's Adam Cartwright and this is my wife, Mrs. Cartwright. We'd like to ask you some questions about a young woman who lived in Carson City during the war. We believe she's dead – murdered, but we're not sure."

"Not sure? Must be one mighty bad doctor who examined her if he couldn't decide on that."

Adam smiled slightly. "It's her identity that's in question. We're hoping you might be able to help. Would you mind?"

Hayward looked at Sibella and then at Adam, noting his sidearm. "You one of the Ponderosa Cartwrights?"

"Yes."

"What's your Pa's name? And how many brothers you got?"

Adam knew he was being tested to confirm he was who he said. "My father is Ben Cartwright and my brothers are Hoss and Joe." Hayward opened his mouth to speak but Adam put up a hand, palm-out, to stop him. "Before you ask for more confirming evidence, our cook is Hop Sing, we own 100,000 acres and I designed the expansion of the ranch house, basically the kitchen and the upper floor. My father and Roy Coffee are good friends, old friends, and so Roy is a friend of mine as well; we tend to be clannish. The friend of one is the friend of all and as for enemies, well, it's the same."

"I suppose you are a Cartwright – an arrogant bastard, aren't you?" Adam grinned, finding he liked Hayward. "Well, come on in and I'll do what I can." Hayward stepped aside and Adam and Sibella passed. Much to her surprise, the inside of the house was spotless with light painted walls, dimity curtains on the windows and a large, plush rug on which the comfortable furniture sat arranged about a fireplace that only had a day or two of ashes in the grate. "Have a seat," He said to them and then called out, "Myra, we got company. How 'bout some coffee and some of them sugar cookies."

Sibella opened her mouth to decline the food and coffee, wondering about the sanitary conditions of the kitchen, but Adam gave her a look that she recognized: "Silence".

"Coffee and a little something to eat would be perfect for about now. We haven't eaten since breakfast." Adam smiled and Sibella followed suit although she certainly didn't feel the same way.

~ 0 ~

Sibella sipped the coffee and gave into her hunger and ate a few cookies while Former Sheriff Hayward and Adam talked. Myra, introduced as the housekeeper, was a middle-aged woman, not very pretty and extremely diffident, but seemingly kind. She didn't have much to say, nodding when introduced but not really meeting eyes, and left the china tea set on the coffee table which had been washed so many times the floral pattern had practically disappeared in some spots and the end of the spout had a small chip. Sibella, being left to pour, noted the cups weren't stained by coffee after years of use. Myra must be clean, Sibella concluded, to have been so careful about stains over the years. So, after Myra had scuttled back to the kitchen and Adam and Hayward talked, Sibella sipped and listened.

Hayward held the envelope in one hand and the tintype of Corporal Griffith in the other, looking back and forth. "Now if you had a picture of her, I might be able to tell you." Hayward looked up from the papers. "During the war, especially after Nevada joined the Union, well, things weren't pleasant hereabouts. There was martial law in all the cities and towns. If a person made it clear they were a Confederate sympathizer, they were run off their land or arrested and taken to Fort Churchill. There, they were put to useless hard labor doing ridiculous chores while wearing chains – like digging holes and filling them up again."

"Sisyphean," Adam said mainly to himself.

"What?" Hayward asked.

"Futile – a task that's futile like the punishment of Sisyphus in mythology…it doesn't matter."

"Well, it mattered to them. Things weren't pretty about here. The soldiers even went to mining camps and asked about anyone who supported the South. One miner would turn in another just for his claim. Things were bad – a house in town was set on fire, Abner Logan's, 'cause the man's son fought for the Confederacy. Abner left, ran because they threatened to hang him and then skin him."

"Yes…I heard about it all when I returned from the war."

"You fought, son?"

"Yes. For the North. When I came home, my father told me about the new flag, the capitol, the new banking system going into effect – all of it. He said, during the war, he went into town as little as possible, said there was a lot of hate-mongering and since my brother Joe's mother was from New Orleans - Joe was proud of it and would tell anyone who would listen, my father kept him on the property as much as he could. I found it hard to believe that there was such intolerance among the people I knew so well – or thought I knew."

"Here in Carson City, Captain Monroe from Fort Churchill and a U.S. Marshal by the name of Blackburn, confiscated weapons from all the citizens, then went to Silver City and Virginia City to take them as well. I'm lucky they left me mine."

"Did they arrest women? I mean if a woman was a Confederate sympathizer such as Miss Griffith more than likely was, having a brother fighting for the South, might they arrest her?"

"I don't know but it wouldn't surprise me any. The Army left me out of things; I never knew who they arrested when they did, only when a wife would come to my office weeping 'cause her husband'd been dragged out of the house - arrested by soldiers – and taken away. And there was nothing I could do to help her. Mind you, it didn't happen often – people learned to keep their mouth shut, something I advised them to do. Keep your politics to yourself, I'd tell them and for once, the citizens heeded what I said. If I saw a Confederate flag, I'd take it before a soldier saw it. I'm not displeased they're closing down Fort Churchill; only a skeleton battalion left. But there might still be records; don't know if the orders are to burn them or ship them to another place.

"Ma'am, would you mind pouring me another?" Hayward leaned and handed his cup to Sibella who smiled and took the cup and saucer, pouring more coffee. "Thank you, ma'am and excuse me for not standing. It's troublesome for me to get up without struggling. Was shot in the leg once and the bone never really healed right. The City Council granted me an extra $100.00 when I retired so I guess it was almost worth it."

Sibella smiled and poured the coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Just black, ma'am. I'm a man of simple tastes." He took the cup from Sibella and held it close to sip.

Adam glanced at Sibella and pursed his lips. Then he spoke. "Mr. Hayward, did you know a Colonel Tucker Fitzhugh? He was stationed at Fort Churchill during the war – actually was there from the beginning. He…"

"Liked to drink, I remember that. You know they built that fort to kill Indians and he was a good Indian fighter. Seemed to be a brave man but he hated the Confederacy as much as he did Indians – talked about killing them all when he was drunk, just lining them up on the wall of Fort Churchill and going down the line, pushing them off one at a time. Said something about the Romans killing prisoners that way – pushing every 10th prisoner off the edge of a cliff as a way to keep them from uprising. Damn, he hated Johnny Rebs. He'd come into town every so often for supplies, corn whiskey and such and take them back – a whole wagon load of barrels of cheap whiskey for the men even though it was against regulations."

"I see. Fitzhugh's staying at the Ponderosa – he and his wife. They're traveling to San Francisco."

"No kidding. Didn't know Fitzhugh had a wife. One time he was sitting in the saloon, dandling some bar girl on his knee and kinda feeling her 'assets'. She wanted up and he wouldn't let her. Started a ruckus and I was called, not just because I was sheriff, but because I was the only one in town with a gun. I had to arrest him and he spent the night in my jail. Let him out in the morning and he just rode away like the whole thing never happened."

"Well, thank you, Sheriff Hayward." Adam stood up and Hayward grabbed his cane, pushing himself up using the chair arm. "Please, don't get up. We can see ourselves out."

"No, this is our home and I'll see out any guests." Hayward stood, shaky until he found his balance. "Mrs. Cartwright, you brightened up my house – you're as cheerful to look at as a vase of fresh flowers. It's nice to have some visitors on occasion."

"Why thank you," Sibella said, smiling. She decided she liked Sheriff Hayward.

Once outside, having said their goodbyes, Adam and Sibella walked arm in arm toward town and when they were out of earshot, Sibella said, "Did you notice he said 'our' house? That must mean that Myra is more than a housekeeper like Sheriff Meiklejohn implied."

"What does it matter, Sibella? Better than being lonely."

"Well, when we met and I talked about free love and relations outside of marriage, you told me I was being silly."

"You were. Those ideas are immature when you think about all that's involved in a physical relationship. When I was in college, the same ideas were bandied about - free love, no commitments between a man and a woman, multiple partners, exploring one's sexuality. Do you think those ideas are new?"

"Well…" Sibella was nonplussed; Adam always did that to her, talked circles around her until she was dizzy. "Adam, if something happened to me, would you take another wife?" Sibella cocked her head.

"God, no!" Adam said with emphasis.

Sibella smiled, angling for a compliment. "Is it because you love me so much?"

"Well, I do love you, but I'd never marry again because, in my opinion, if a man survives one wife, he should consider himself lucky and not put himself through it again."

"Oh, Adam!" Sibella said, lightly slapping his arm. And Adam chuckled. "Your father didn't think so." Sibella instantly regretted her remark. Adam's face turned hard, the gentle smile left his mouth; he had never said how he felt about his father's second and third wives beyond vague references to affection for Inger and a comment that Marie was beautiful. And Sibella never pushed him as it was something he obviously didn't want to discuss.

"I want to send a few wires," Adam said, looking for the telegraph office as they walked down the main street of Carson City. "If I remember, the office should be beside the…there it is."

"Adam could we have lunch before we return home. I had a few cookies but I really am hungry."

"We can eat a bit but I have something to pick up at the freight office first."

"What about the feed you're picking up?"

"Well," Adam said, turning to look at her. Sibella was pleased he was himself again with the soft look about his eyes when he spoke to her. "That wasn't quite the truth. I've had a crate waiting over a week to be picked up."

"What is it?"

"A surprise." And that was all Adam would say.


	14. Chapter 14

**One more chapter and the story is completed! I was going to post one long last chapter but have been wrangling over the ending so I decided instead to break it into two shorter chapters. Otherwise, I probably couldn't post for another three days or so as I worked out the ending. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one.**

 **XIV**

Adam used a crowbar to pry open the wooden crate while Sibella attempted to contain a wriggling Noah who kept trying to get to his father, raising a fuss when his mother wouldn't allow it.

"If you like," Mrs. George offered, watching as well, "I'll take Noah into the kitchen."

"Leave him stay," Adam said. "This is for him." Adam pulled out the excelsior, curled slivers of softwood used as packing material, and revealed a small wooden chair with long legs, a tray flipped over and lying against the seat's back. Grinning, Adam pulled it from the crate and sat it clear of the mess. "A highchair for Noah. Ordered it last month. What do you think?"

"Oh," Mrs. George said, "how very clever! I've seen pictures of these in the mercantile catalogue but they're pricey. It must have cost you quite a pretty penny."

"It'll make life easier," Adam said, picking up the chair and carrying it to the dining room, setting it down at the table. "Sibella, bring Noah."

Sibella carried the child in and Adam took his son who crowed at finally being in his father's arms. Mrs. George watched, her hands clasped in excitement.

"You put the tray down – like this - and then slide him in. See." Noah immediately slapped his hands on the wooden tray, gurgling with joy.

"Seems to me," Sibella said, "that if you can slide him in, he can also slide out the bottom. You know how he is – when he wants down, he wants down."

"You have a point there," Adam said, furrowing his brow. "Sibella, go get a scarf, would you?"

"What?" She didn't know whether to take offense at being ordered about or not.

"Go get a scarf. I'll tie it around his waist and the back bars of the chair. He'll stay safe. Mrs. George, if Noah's dinner is ready, so is he…I'm hungry myself. Haven't eaten since breakfast."

Mrs. George left for the kitchen but Sibella still stood, her arms petulantly crossed.

"What's wrong?"

"You mean other than the mess left on the rug? You couldn't unpack it outside, could you?"

"I suppose I could have but I thought…I'm sorry. You're right - I shouldn't have unpacked it here. Watch him." Adam left and began gathering up the shavings and tossing them onto the fire that burned in the stone fireplace. He went to gather up more and noticed Sibella still stood with her arms crossed, looking angry.

"All right, Sibella. This is more than just excelsior on the rug. Tell me. Don't pout like a child."

"I'm not pouting! It's just that…nothing. It's nothing. I'll go get one of my expensive silk scarves so we can use it to tie our child down so we can feed him. Perhaps we should stick a funnel down his throat and pour food down his gullet. And since I haven't eaten since breakfast either…oh, never mind!" Sibella stomped up the stairs and Adam watched, puzzled. She had been quiet the whole ride home, now that he thought about it. He had been so bound by his own thoughts that he hadn't really noticed.

Despite Sibella being in a bad temper, dinner was pleasant; Mrs. George praised the high chair and even Sibella had to smile at Noah's delight at having food such as peas and small pieces of boiled potatoes put on his tray which he could eat by himself or smash with his palm and then smear into his mouth. When given a spoon, Noah banged it on the wooden tray accompanying it with various exclamations.

Hoss arrived halfway through the meal and was invited to share in what would be his second dinner ("Hop Sing's one mighty fine cook, Mrs. George, but so are you and it's been a whole 20 minutes since I ate!") Hoss also made a great fuss over Noah and his new highchair. "Shoulda had one of those when Joe was a baby. Maybe he woulda eaten more that way and gotten bigger." But the conversation took on a private turn when Hoss confirmed to Adam that everyone was going to be at dinner on the Ponderosa the next night.

"The Fitzhughs, for certain?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, but that was some doin'. The Colonel, he wanted to push on to San Francisco but Pa convinced 'im that Sunday would be better – sleep late and then he'd drive 'em to the Carson City depot. Told 'em there's less of a crowd boardin' on Sundays. Also tempted 'em with a roast pig, said Hop Sing would make one just in their honor Saturday dinner. And Roy's comin' too and he's bringin' Miss Pear; said she was mighty excited to get an invite to the Ponderosa. Oh, and he gave me this for you…" Hoss reached under his vest and from his shirt pocket, pulled out a tin star. Hoss slapped it on the table. "Roy said for you to wear this; might help you get any information and he also said to tell you that he's got some background information on the Fitzhughs like you asked and he found some more supportin' evidence, said you can stop by the office, that your guess was on the money."

"What's all this?" Sibella asked, looking back and forth. "What information on the Fitzhughs? And Miss Pear's invited to dinner? Why? Does this have anything to do with the wires you sent today, Adam?"

"You sent wires?" Hoss asked.

"Two. I wanted to find out some information on…" Adam glanced at Sibella who sat waiting expectantly, but Adam turned back to Hoss. "I asked for the responses to be sent to Virginia City. Hopefully, I'll have the answers tomorrow or I may have to connive a way to make the Fitzhughs stay another day or two and Hancock as well. I was going to take him out to see the mine tomorrow morning but I'm riding to Fort Churchill instead. How about riding out with me? That way Hancock can't ask you to show him the mine and Pa has guests. I'll leave my apologies with Pa for when Hancock arrives and it'll ensure he stays one more day."

"Fort Churchill? They's shuttin' that down."

"I know; hopefully, the records will still be there and I can see them."

Sibella was shut-out and she knew it. All of it, all the investigations had started due to her insistence and now she was excluded. Instead of confiding in her, Adam had taken Hoss into his confidence. She felt ignored. Her mother had often told her that she needed to find her happiness in the women's domain, raising children and, as a wife, being sheltered from a hard life. After all, Mrs. Atherton often said, Sibella was fortunate. Many women were not so lucky and had to scrub floors, work the fields alongside their husbands, milk cows, slop hogs and bear child after child, losing a tooth for each child born. And many women endured seeing a few of their children die of disease. Sibella had an education, was intelligent and beautiful and still she wanted more from life. Sibella looked about her home, at Noah happily chattering with his Uncle Hoss who so obviously adored him and at Adam, who she knew loved their son and her. But she also knew that she would never be on equal footing with her husband. And she wondered if Adam hadn't confided his plans in her because he wanted to protect someone else such as Fanny Fitzhugh or Miss Pear.

~ 0 ~

Sibella sat up in bed, listening to the early morning sounds in the house and outside. The drapes were still drawn, the room in darkness although she could see sunlight about the edges; Adam hadn't wanted to wake her. Sibella surmised he hadn't wanted to face her after last night, didn't want to argue anymore.

"Coward," Sibella mumbled to herself, rolling over and hugging her pillow, reliving their argument after he came home late from Virginia City.

 _"_ _You leave right after dinner for Virginia City, you and Hoss, and leave me at home. And you won't tell me what the 'evidence' is Sheriff Coffee found. And when I ask to go to Fort Churchill tomorrow with you and Hoss, you to act as if I asked for a trip to the moon! Why are you suddenly leaving me out of everything? You won't even tell me what you asked Sheriff Coffee to look into!"_

 _"_ _Sibella, it's a long, dusty ride to the fort; you're better off here at home and as for Sheriff Coffee, it has to do with more letters they found in Madam Adair's living quarters; you're better off remaining ignorant of their content."_

 _"_ _That's your opinion, Adam. And you never told me what was in the wires you sent either. I had to just sit on that bench like the good, obedient, patient wife while you wrote out those telegrams. When I asked, you said they were about nothing I needed to know. You told Hoss but you didn't tell me! And then you wonder why I'm upset."_

 _"_ _Sibella…look, I just have a hunch, that's all. I don't want you to start creating some imaginary collusion among people who may be guilty of nothing. I think it's best you arrive at the dinner tomorrow without suspicions that might be groundless; you don't have a poker face, you know." Adam stripped off his shirt and balling it, threw it with a vengeance in the corner. "Now I just want to get a good night's sleep so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't…."_

 _"_ _Wouldn't what? Unhook me, would you?" Sibella turned her back to him; she was too upset to have the patience to work the hooks and Mrs. George was already in bed. She could feel Adam's fingers against her skin as he worked the hooks halfway down her back. "You would be happy if I would just say, 'Yes, husband. Whatever you say, husband." Sibella reached behind her and unhooked her dress the rest of the way, stepping out of it and tossing it with as much fury as Adam had his shirt._

 _Adam, having pulled off his boots and noisily dropping them, stepped out of his trousers and pulled down the coverlet. "You know, Sibella, you're right. I wish you would just abide by what I say. Your constant refusal to keep out of this is getting to be…well, I'm tempted to... I thought I had made my point but obviously not; remember, it was murder – someone was killed. Think about that. Just stay home tomorrow and be a good wife and mother." Adam slid into bed, pulling the covers up as he rolled onto his side, slipping one arm under his pillow – his back to Sibella's side of the bed, she noted; he infuriated her!_

 _She had lain quietly but was unable to sleep. She could hear Adam's breathing, the shallow, lengthy breaths that indicated he was asleep. He was so smug about the matter, Sibella thought – of course she knew someone had been killed. Hadn't she found the body? And Adam and Sheriff Coffee had decided it was a woman who plunged the hatpin into Madame Adair's bosom. A woman. Was Adam protecting Fanny or Miss Pear? No, Adam wouldn't protect a killer – never! But he might see the woman first, attempt to convince her to confess before he turned her in. But threatening a killer? It was murder, after all, and what if the killer tried to murder him?_

 _Sibella turned over and shook Adam's shoulder. He jerked awake and sat up._

 _"_ _What? What's wrong?"_

 _The room was so dark with the drapes closed that Sibella could barely see Adam's expression but she knew how he looked._

 _"_ _I'm still angry with you, but…oh, Adam – I love you so! Tell me you'll be careful tomorrow!" Sibella threw her arms about his neck, kissing his cheeks, ignoring the rough stubble._

 _"_ _Sibella, don't be worried; I promise you I'll be careful and I'll have Hoss with me. Trust me and know I love you. Shall I show you how much I love you?"_

 _"_ _Yes. Show me. Show me."_

 _Sibella felt the mattress move as Adam shifted his weight. She closed her eyes, a sigh of pleasure escaping her as she surrendered herself to him and his caresses. And although the touch of his hands was familiar as was the heat and taste of his mouth, there was always a newness about their lovemaking – as if it was the first time she had given herself with abandon._

~ 0 ~

The morning dragged; Sibella constantly glanced at the clocks, estimating how long a trip to Virginia City would have taken Adam. Mrs. George told her that when she went down to fire up the kitchen stove and start the morning coffee, "the Mister" was standing at the sink outfitted for a day of riding, his gun belt strapped about his hips, drinking coffee and eating a slice of applesauce cake as he would a hunk of bread. The stove was already hot and the coffee ready. That had been around 6:00 in the morning. Sibella calculated Adam and Hoss had left the Ponderosa about 8:00 for Fort Churchill and should be home at 2:00 in the afternoon. She looked at the clock; it was a few minutes before 10:00 in the morning and although Sibella had tried to stay busy, playing chase outside with Noah while Chauncey watched, smiling, from his chair by the barn, she was still anxious. What had Sheriff Coffee discovered in searching the small apartment above _Parisian Style_? How could she get around Chauncey to ride into town and talk to the Sheriff or his deputy?

Sheriff Coffee might be a hard nut to crack but Deputy Foster might be more amenable to her request. _Deputy Foster, Adam said that you and Sheriff Coffee found more evidence as to the reason Madame Adair was murdered but he left before sunrise for Fort Churchill. Can you tell me?_ If she looked particularly lovely…perhaps. Sibella considered asking Chauncey to saddle up Delilah when she heard the sound of a buggy in the front yard. She went to the window and through the lace sheers, saw Fanny Fitzhugh in what was a borrowed Ponderosa buggy. Obviously, no one could keep her from going wherever she wanted.

"Well, Mrs. Fitzhugh," Sibella said, stepping out onto the porch, Noah on one hip, "how nice to see you again. Won't you come in?" Sibella noted that Fanny was dressed more modestly and wore a simple flat hat and a short cape as the day was overcast and chilly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cartwright. So that's Noah? What a handsome boy – looks like his father."

"Yes. Thank you. He's just as hard-headed too."

"Well, isn't that men in general? Anyway, I was hoping you could come with me to town for a bit of shopping. The Colonel and I are leaving for San Francisco tomorrow and I want to buy a little something for my daughter Rosemary and my new grandson. I don't have much time as, well, you know I have to get back to dress for dinner and so do you, but this morning, Adam said to take you along."

"You saw Adam this morning?" Suddenly Sibella had an image of Adam holding Fanny Fitzhugh in his arms, kissing Fanny the way he had kissed her last night, telling the woman he couldn't stay away from her any longer.

"Yes, when he stopped by to get Hoss."

"Oh, of course." Sibella relaxed; Adam hadn't stopped to visit with Fanny Fitzhugh after all; Adam was right – she did jump to conclusions of the worst kind.

"Apparently, they're heading to that old fort they spoke of the other night, something about old records. They invited the Colonel along but he decided to stay at the Ponderosa with a brandy and the warm fire."

"At this time of morning?" Sibella found it odd that anyone would start drinking spirits that early in the day. The Colonel would be very drunk at dinner if he kept it up over the long afternoon.

"The mention of the fort brought back bad memories for him. But I hear that Sheriff Coffee is an invited guest tonight. My husband and he had dealings with each other during the war, taking care of Confederate insurgents and such, and my husband has mentioned him fondly a few times since we've been at the Ponderosa. He even spoke of driving into town and visiting the sheriff there. Anyway, since you're so familiar with what to buy for baby boys, you having Noah and such, would you come with me? I would really like some female company."


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks to all who have been kind enough to leave me supportive comments - I honestly appreciate it and am insecure enough to actually need them to continue writing! ;-D And now, here is the end I have been promising. I envisioned one ending but I ended up with another as I just couldn't manage the great reveal at a dinner party with everyone present and Adam playing "Hercule Poirot." I wrangled with it, started writing it and abandoned it. But it is what it is and I do believe all the ends are tied together. Hope this ending makes you happy.**

 **XV**

Mrs. Fitzhugh handled the reins well, Sibella noted as they moved toward Virginia City. She decided she would make an excuse to get away once they were inside the mercantile. She would leave Fanny shopping while she went to see Sheriff Coffee or Deputy Foster if the sheriff wasn't available – and Sibella hoped he wasn't. She pulled her cape over her skirt; the wind was blustery, creeping under her cape and pushing it aside.

Sibella hadn't time to dress. Mrs. Fitzhugh said she'd wait and when Chauncey came over to help her down, Mrs. Fitzhugh plied her copious charms, telling him that Mister Cartwright had okayed their foray into Virginia City – women's business – and that she'd just wait outside there in the buggy. So, despite wearing a day dress, something along the lines of the tea dresses she had always worn to receive her friends and other visitors in Sacramento City, Sibella pulled out her light tan cloak with the braided edging; it would serve to cover her dress and go with the straw boater she had worn to Carson City the previous day.

"This is such lovely country," Fanny said as the horse trotted along. "Are you from hereabouts?"

"No - Sacramento City. It's lovely there as well but not quite so cold this time of year. And you're from…?"

Mrs. Fitzhugh looked Sibella in the eye. "Baltimore."

"Baltimore…someone else said…" Sibella tried to remember. Someone else had mentioned Baltimore. Who was it?

"How long have you and Adam been married?" Fanny asked.

"What? Oh, almost four years now. I didn't think we'd stay married a year," Sibella said, laughing lightly.

"I understand that," Fanny said, smiling. "After my first husband died, I doubted I'd ever marry again but then I met Tucker. We married and I've never regretted it. He's quite a wealthy man, quite wealthy. But then so is Adam. Seeing that he's the eldest, I suppose he inherits the whole Ponderosa."

"Actually, no. It's to be divided among the three of them. I believe they've already staked out their thirds – Adam's built our house on a section of his choice of land. Hoss calls his section 'Hoss Heaven'. I haven't seen it yet but it's supposed to be beautiful – higher up in the mountains. But I don't really depend on Adam as I have my own money, a wedding present from my parents. Well, actually, it was for Adam, but he turned it over to me…" Sibella let her voice die out and wondered how she had been maneuvered into revealing so much information. Adam would have silenced her with "the look" long before this.

"Oh, how wonderful. So, Adam Cartwright married himself a rich wife!" Fanny laughed and Sibella only smiled; she didn't know how to take the implication.

Sibella changed the topic to gardening, saying that she wanted to plant a grape arbor. Fanny launched into her garden in Baltimore, how a man came in once a week during the spring and summer to carve the shrubbery into various shapes – "topiaries", along the lines of the gardens of Versailles. Sibella listened but was dubious. After all, she had seen the famed gardens on her trip to Europe and wondered just how much hyperbole Fanny Fitzhugh employed. Fanny chatted all the way to Virginia City and once they were in view of the buildings, Fanny pulled up the buggy.

"Sibella, I have a terrible confession and I hope as another woman, you'll understand and help me."

Fanny looked truly upset so Sibella lightly touched her arm. "Of course. What can I do?"

"I do love my husband, I do! But he tends to drink too much and…" Fanny reached for a lacy handkerchief stuck up her sleeve and touched her eyes as if tears filled them. "I hate to revel such intimate details but if I expect you to help me…well, as far as our conjugal bed and his duties to me, he's often too drunk to perform, usually falls asleep downstairs and the butler helps him into the spare room. They often wake me up with Tucker's stumbling and drunken mumbling."

"I'm so sorry. That must be awful for you." Sibella found she could even forgive the woman for flirting with Adam since her married life was without any excitement, any sexual satisfaction. How desirable Adam with his "ravishing pirate smile" must be to someone like Fanny Fitzhugh.

"Yes, it is awful and I've done an awful thing." Fanny toyed with the lace handkerchief, looking down at it while she confessed. "I've had a dalliance with Archie Hancock."

Sibella sat upright, feeling smug. _See, Adam! Fanny Fitzhugh was having an affair with Archie Hancock. You never listen to me, and about this I was right! And she would have been just as willing to roll on her back for you!_ In the future, Adam would listen to her, pay heed to her insights, her woman's intuition.

"Oh, Fanny, that makes for a terrible situation."

"Oh, I know, Sibella, but I want to tell him it's over; I can't tell him at dinner tonight with everyone there – we'd never be able to get away - and I just…well, if I go alone to his hotel room, I might be persuaded to continue the relationship. He is handsome, don't you think?"

"Well, yes, he is a handsome man…but once you leave for San Francisco…oh, now I remember. It was Mr. Hancock who said he was from Baltimore. Now I understand why you need to break it off here and now."

"Yes. Mr. Hancock will be transferred to New Orleans but not for a while. I need to end this. If you would come with me, Sibella, he'd know I couldn't stay, that we're shopping, and I would be safe. We could go up the back stairs of the hotel, the ones the staff uses. No one would see us so you don't have to worry about gossip and I could break it off with him – neatly without a scene. Please, Sibella, please!" Fanny looked piteous, grasping Sibella's gloved hands in hers. Sibella's curiosity was piqued; she would be a witness to the whole scandalous story.

"All right, Fanny. I'll go with you but you must promise to keep it brief. Go down that street," Sibella said pointing, "and it'll take us behind the hotel."

~ 0 ~

Fanny took Sibella's arm and entwined it with hers. "Thank you so much for coming with me. It gives me the extra courage I need to do this."

Sibella tried to smile but her face was frozen; Fanny seemed to clamp her arm next to her and Sibella wondered if she could pull away should she desire. Adam's voice ran through her head warning her about getting involved in things that weren't her business. Stay out of it, he would tell her. But they were inside the hotel and cautiously climbing the stairs the help used to reach the rooms. Sibella could hear the sounds from the kitchen and the laundry fade away until they were on the top floor and outside room 312.

"This is it," Fanny said, raising her hand to knock.

"Maybe I should stay outside," Sibella said. Suddenly she had regrets.

"Oh, but you said…well, if you promise to wait right here. I want Archie to know I can't stay, that I have you waiting for me."

Fanny released Sibella's arm and rapped on the door. They waited only a second or two and the door opened. Archie was handsome, Sibella thought as she saw him again. No wonder Fanny Fitzhugh carried on with him.

"Come in," Archie said and Fanny entered. Archie waited. "Would you like to come in, Mrs. Cartwright?"

"No, thank you. I'll wait for Mrs. Fitzhugh out here." She smiled and Archie slowly closed the door. Sibella paced in the hall. A minute passed and Sibella became more anxious. Then the door of 312 opened and Archie opened it, obviously upset.

"Mrs. Cartwright – it's Mrs. Fitzhugh – please…" Archie stepped aside, motioning for her to enter.

Sibella stepped into the room and saw Fanny standing by the window; she looked fine, was even smiling. But before Sibella could say anything, she heard the door close and a hand clamp across her mouth. Archie had also put a strong arm about her waist.

"Okay, Mother," Archie said, "tie her hands."

Fear made Sibella's mind freeze but she tried to think what to do. _Mother_. Archie had called Fanny Fitzhugh, _Mother_. Sibella tried to pull the hand from her mouth so she could scream. She could already feel the fear bubble up in her throat, ready to release itself in one high-pitched, primal scream. But the hand was too constricting across her mouth. So instead of pulling it away, she tried to wriggle out from under it while Fanny grabbed one of her arms. Sibella tried again and the hand was partly over her mouth but she was able to get the fleshy part of Archie's hand between her teeth and bit as viciously as she could until she could taste his blood. Archie, with a yelp, released her and stepped back. But before Sibella could scream, Fanny pulled back her arm and then punched Sibella.

Sibella had never been struck before and, therefore, had no idea what damage a well-placed punch in the jaw could do. She lost her balance and fell backwards, her head snapping to the side. Archie caught her and through the haze of pain that shot through her face and body, basically paralyzing her, Sibella heard him say, "The damn bitch bit me! I ought to kick her teeth out! Look, I'm bleeding."

A scarf Fanny Fitzhugh pulled from her reticule was tied across Sibella's mouth, forcing her teeth apart and rendering her tongue useless in forming any words. She tried to resist having her ankles and wrists tied but her head was spinning and although the initial pain had somewhat dulled, her head throbbed and her neck felt too pained to hold up her head. She wondered if her jaw was broken. They put her on the floor while they talked over her fate.

"You sure this'll work?" Archie asked. He kept glancing at Sibella on the rug.

"Yes. Listen, they'll be so busy looking for her that everything else will be shunted aside. You arrive at the Ponderosa with Mr. Philpot, ready for dinner and then, when you find out that Mrs. Cartwright is missing, you volunteer to join in the search. I doubt they'll want you. Then head back to town. If they do want you to join, come back to the hotel room and dispatch of her quickly.

"In the morning, Tucker and I will leave for San Francisco. You tell Ben Cartwright that you're sorry about his daughter-in-law being missing and that under the circumstances, you won't press to see the mine."

"But, Mother, it's a good investment."

"Archie, when Tucker dies, they'll be enough money for all, now that we've taken care of things. Now, once more, what are you going to do when you return tonight? Tell me again. The timing has to be perfect."

"I stab her with a hatpin…" Archie looked at Sibella lying helpless on the floor and Fanny swooped down, pulling the hatpin out of the straw boater Sibella wore, it's brim now bent and crushed. Fanny held the silver, enameled-pansy hatpin, Sibella's favorite.

"Use this. Stab her through the heart and then…what is it you are supposed to do next?"

"I toss her from the window, go out the front door and tell the desk clerk I'll be back for dinner in a few minutes, that I'm going to buy cigars. Then I carry Mrs. Cartwright a-ways off and leave her to be discovered and go buy some cigars, offering the desk clerk one when I come back. The 'Milliner's Murderer' has struck again. I'll have to read the headlines."

"That's right. Actually…" Fanny mused, looking at Sibella, "maybe we should do away with her now. You know, so the doctor can say she died about noon. Then you take care of the body after dark." Fanny held the hatpin in one hand and ran the fingers of the other hand along the lengthy pin. "I heard they think a woman killed Harriet Griffith because of the choice of weapon. Maybe a woman should kill Sibella; at least this time they'd be right."

"I don't know about this whole thing, Mother. I mean a few people know she came to town with you. What are you going to say when she doesn't arrive home?"

"That she decided to shop longer and said she would rent a buggy from the livery."

"You think Adam Cartwright will buy that?"

"I don't care. Just take care of business. Make sure she's dead – and far from the hotel. Let's kill her now. Then we won't have to worry about her maybe working her way loose."

"She won't; I made sure of that…" Archie looked at Sibella and then back at his mother. "I didn't like killing that other woman, even though she was a blackmailer. And as for Mrs. Cartwright, if we kill her now and then stuff her into the closet, well, when rigor sets in, she'll be in that position, bent like a jackknife. She sure is lovely although she took a hunk of flesh out of my hand." Archie held his handkerchief against the heel of his hand.

Fanny chuckled. "Her last meal." Archie smiled weakly. "You go take care of your hand. Tell the doctor you were petting a dog and it suddenly snapped at you."

"He'll think it was hydrophobic."

"Tell him, no. Tell him…tell him it had a sore ear. You saw it after you scratched its ear and it bit you. Now I have to go. Put her in the closet. She can stew in her own juices."

~ 0 ~

Sibella sat with her knees drawn up, her hands tied behind her at the wrists, her ankles bound and the gag aggravating her already pulsating cheek and jaw. She rested her head against the wall and tears ran down her cheeks until the cloth gag absorbed them; it was a wet mess anyway, as her saliva had already soaked it a great deal. She kept trying to close her lips over it so she could swallow better and was almost to that point. A sliver of daylight shone under the door and that was the only thing that kept Sibella from going into a full panic. _Keep calm. They'll find you before it's dark, before Archie comes back. Adam will look for you. He'll find you…but what if he doesn't find me in time? My baby! Noah! He'll cry for me! And my parents – oh, my mother will collapse and my father will weep! And Adam! What will he do? Cry? No, Adam won't cry. He'll swear revenge and I hope he achieves it!_

Sibella tried, by calming her breathing, to keep the full-fledged horror of her predicament from being realized. She wanted to scream, to pound her fists against the door but was basically stuck in what was becoming a horrible position. Her shoulders ached and the corners of her mouth were raw and burning. Her face radiated pain into her neck. And once it became dark, not only would she be in the equivalent of a casket, but she would meet her demise with her own hatpin. And Sibella sobbed anew, the tears causing her nose to run. She knew she would be a very unattractive corpse.

But Adam was correct; she had been unable to defend herself. Even if she had kept her small derringer in her reticule, it wouldn't have served her. Archie would have easily wrested it from her hand just as Adam had. Pride goeth before a fall and she had been proud. Proud, arrogant, all those unpleasant attributes. If she lived through this, Sibella swore she'd never get involved in matters she shouldn't. And she would listen to Adam. And she prayed desperately _: Oh, God, let me live to see my son grow to a man. Please let me see my husband Adam again – please! Just to see his face and his eyes and to feel his kiss. And if your plan is that I should die here, keep my child safe!_

Finally, Sibella fell asleep although it was more akin to dropping into exhaustion. She didn't know how long she had been in the closet when she opened her eyes to blackness and her heart raced; she could see nothing and the closet was stifling. Then she realized she had been wakened by voices and heavy bootheels. And the voices of Sheriff Coffee, Hoss and Adam.

The closet door was pulled open and in the waning light from the window, she saw a shadowy figure, a man's figure. And then Adam's voice: "Sibella - oh, thank God!"

Sibella felt herself pulled up and then light filled the room as a lamp was lit. Adam lifted Sibella in his arms and placed her on the bed, pushing her hair aside.

"Sibella, who did this to your face?"

"You all right, Mrs. Cartwright?" Sheriff Coffee asked and she knew, although she couldn't really see, that Hoss was cutting the bathrobe sash that had been used to tie her ankles while Adam unknotted the gag and then gently rolled her over, using Hoss' knife to slice the binding on her wrists. And then Adam pulled her to him, being careful to avoid her cheek and chin which had swelled and were bruised.

"Oh, Adam…" Sibella managed to say. Her jaw throbbed whenever she talked, and she began to sob again, clinging to Adam. She forced herself to speak through the pain. "They were going to kill me, stab me like they did Madam Adair – with my own hatpin! Oh, Adam…" Sibella felt her nose run again and wiped it on Adam's sleeve. Unladylike, she knew, but at the moment she didn't care. "Adam," Sibella said looking up at him, his eyes soft, loving and comforting, "I need to relieve myself – now!"

 **Epilogue**

Sibella lay in bed holding a cold compress to her jaw and cheek, taking in the familiar surroundings. Earlier, she had looked in the vanity mirror and was shocked at her appearance. Her mouth looked like a red slash as the rawness at the corners of her mouth was as red as her lips, extending them, and the left side of her face was swollen and an ugly dark purple in color; she even had a black eye. But worst of all, was the caked, dried mucus about her nostrils, "Just like Noah when he has a runny nose!" She flushed with embarrassment that all those people, including the desk clerk, had seen her in such a state; she washed away the crust. Mrs. George had fussed over her, giving her a chamomile salve for her mouth, brushing out her hair and rubbing liniment into her shoulders to relieve the soreness from her having rested against them in an unnatural position for so long. Then she helped Sibella into a clean linen gown and went to make some broth. Sibella could barely talk so much as chew.

Sibella lay against the cool pillows, her eyes closed. She was saved, Adam had found her. Hoss had brought her home after Dr. Martin had examined her and declared her basically unhurt, while Adam, Deputy Foster and Sheriff Coffee pulled together all the loose ends by making certain the guilty were in custody – Archie Hancock and Fanny Fitzhugh. And on the ride home in Sheriff Coffee's borrowed buggy, Hoss explained to Sibella that he and Adam had stopped by the Ponderosa after Fort Churchill and Adam had presented the Colonel with the evidence they had found about selling government issued supplies. The Colonel had confessed and Adam said that Sheriff Coffee had letters from Mrs. Fitzhugh showing that Harriet Griffith had been attempting to blackmail him. He claimed to have no knowledge of any blackmail or of any Madam Adair and poured himself another brandy. Adam asked Mrs. Fitzhugh about Archie Hancock and her first marriage, "but all she done was tell Adam he could go ta hell."

Hoss said that he and Adam stopped by their house after leaving the Ponderosa on their way to Virginia City and Mrs. George said, "…you done went shoppin' with a lady from the Ponderosa. We knew that was Mrs. Fitzhugh but she was already at the Ponderosa so's we went to Sheriff Coffee and he said he didn't see you in town none, so's we went lookin' for you and since Archie was involved in all this, well, we found 'im in the saloon and I swear, I thought Adam was gonna kill 'im. Guess Archie did too 'cause he finally blurted out ever'thin'. And that's how we found you locked in that closet. And iffen it makes you feel any better, Archie looks ten times worse'n you do now that Adam's done with 'im."

In the dim light from the lowered bedroom lamp, Sibella's mind swirled about the events, and faces loomed in and out of her drowsing. Then she heard Adam's voice break through her fogginess and she fought to open her eyes to see him as he was calling her name, "Sibella. Darling. Can you wake up a moment?"

Sibella managed to wake and she saw Adam's concerned face. She smiled as best she could.

"The doctor told me to wake you up every few hours just to see if you were all right."

Sibella tried to smile wider but the pain stopped her. But she managed to say, "What happened? Why did they kill Madam Adair?"

"I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. Now get some sleep." Adam leaned over to kiss Sibella's forehead but she stopped him, grabbing his shirt.

"No. Tell me now! Please!"

"All right," Adam sighed, "If that's what you want. It seems that Madam Adair was in reality, Harriet Griffith and Harriet Griffith was Tucker Fitzhugh's lover when he was at Fort Churchill. When it was discovered – not only was he fraternizing with a civilian but with a civilian who was also a Confederate sympathizer - he was formally reprimanded; we found the record of it at Fort Churchill. But that wasn't all. Apparently, from the letters Roy Coffee found in the living quarters in the milliner's shop that were from Fanny Fitzhugh, Harriet was blackmailing Tucker – but it seems the Colonel never knew; Fanny intercepted all the mail.

"Seems that when Harriet and the Colonel were lovers, during their 'pillow talk', Harriet pumped him for information about what he knew about the Union maneuvers, where were they, what did he know? Seems he must have told her and she wrote her brother who passed on the information. But Fitzhugh wasn't a traitor, just a drunk and a avaricious, lustful man, and what he told Harriet, the information she passed on to her brother, was all lies – the exact opposite of what was actually going to happen. So, on that information, Corporal Declan Griffith's detachment was practically decimated. He was hanged as a traitor and although it took a while for her to track down the Colonel, once she did, she threatened to expose him – not for being her lover, but for selling arms to the Indians and diverting military supplies and selling them to trading posts and to passing wagon trains at exorbitant prices." Adam shook his head with a small chuckle. "Imagine that. Selling army issued rifles to the Indians. What a convoluted plan that must have been - falsifying records, intentionally losing bills of lading – couldn't have been any too easy for him to manage but he apparently made a small fortune doing it.

"Anyway, from one of the wires I sent, I found out that Fanny Fitzhugh, at a very young age, had been married to one William Archibald Hancock. Archie is her son and Tucker knew nothing about him, even with his living in Baltimore. Her daughter Rosalind is from her second marriage to a man by the name of Grange. When Archie, who kept in touch with his mother all these years – hence her intercepting all the mail – said he was coming to Virginia City on railroad business and since Harriet Griffith received mail under the name Madame Adair, care of the _Parisian Style_ in Virginia City, what better time for the Fitzhughs to visit the Ponderosa? Everyone would be here at the same time and Harriet could be taken care of one way or another.

"Anyway, Archie killed Harriet Griffith although he claims he never intended to, said that she was going to stab him with the hatpin and that he turned her hand onto herself, said she actually stabbed herself – with his hand forcing her, of course. So that's about it."

Adam sat looking at Sibella. She was a mess but she still made him smile; as miserable as she must feel, as exhausted as she must be, she couldn't put off her curiosity until tomorrow. And the thought that he had come so close to losing her…Adam's breath caught in his throat.

"I love you, Sibella, but if you'd just listened to me…I told you to stay out of it."

"Adam," Sibella closed her eyes and sank down further into her pillows, her jaw still throbbing. "I'm so very tired. Can you lecture me tomorrow?"

"All right. Tomorrow I'll talk and you'll listen. Now get some sleep; Roy wants to interview you tomorrow as well and you may have to testify in court." Adam stood by the bed and leaned down to kiss her dark hair.

Sibella opened her eyes. "I hope not for a while; I can't cover these bruises with powder until they fade a bit."

"Vanity. I swear, Sibella," but Adam chuckled as he leaned on the headboard. "But even with your face all battered, you're still the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Why you're prettier than a spotted pup."

"Oh, Adam, such a silver-tongued flatterer. I love you." Sibella reached up and touched his cheek while gazing into his face. Then her eyes opened wide, suddenly remembering. "Did anyone ever tell Miss Pear dinner was canceled?"

~ Finis ~


End file.
